By Iduh Onah
THERE are governors, there are kingmakers, there are political godfathers, and then there are those rare figures who seem determined to occupy all three positions at once. In contemporary Nigerian politics, few personalities fit that description more comfortably than Nyesom Wike, former governor of Rivers State and current Minister of the Federal Capital Territory.
To Wike’s admirers, he is a fearless strategist, a master tactician, and a leader who gets things done. To his critics, he is something closer to an emperor; an imposing political force whose influence extends far beyond the boundaries of office and whose shadow continues to loom over Rivers State long after his departure from Government House.
Yet history offers one final caution. No political empire lasts forever. No kingmaker remains supreme indefinitely. No emperor, however powerful, escapes the verdict of time. Shakespeare understood this truth. Sophocles understood it. The Romans learned it repeatedly. So did the Bourbons, the Bonapartes, and countless rulers whose names once inspired awe.
Indeed, one sometimes gets the impression that Rivers State is not merely a constituent unit of the Nigerian federation but a vast political estate over which Emperor Wike still exercises absolute influence. History offers many examples of men such as Nyesom Wike.
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Louis XIV of France famously declared, “L’État, c’est moi” (“I am the State”). Whether he actually uttered those exact words remains disputed by historians, but the sentiment has survived because it captures a timeless political temptation: the belief that the ruler and the realm are inseparable. In the imagination of both supporters and critics, Wike often appears to embody a modern Nigerian version of that phenomenon.
His political journey has been truly remarkable. Few politicians have demonstrated such an ability to remain at the centre of national conversations regardless of changing circumstances. He left office as governor, yet his relevance appears undiminished. If anything, his influence seems to have expanded. Like a Shakespearean protagonist who refuses to exit the stage after the final act, he continues to dominate scenes in which he is not even officially cast.
One of the most striking demonstrations of this influence emerged during the political drama surrounding the 2023 presidential election. The ambitions of Atiku Abubakar encountered resistance from many quarters, but few obstacles proved as consequential as the rebellion led by Wike and his allies within the Peoples Democratic Party.
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Political disagreements are common. Political grievances are routine. But what unfolded was something more dramatic – a prolonged confrontation that transformed internal party tensions into a national spectacle, a show of power that has paralysed the PDP, severally described by the late Chief Solomon Lar, the first National Chairman of the party, as the “biggest political party in Africa”.
A second striking example of Wike’s enduring political mastery is his calculated outwitting of Governor Siminalayi Fubara in the protracted Rivers State power struggle. Despite handpicking Fubara as his successor and facilitating his emergence as governor, Wike demonstrated that political succession does not automatically translate into the transfer of influence.
When tensions erupted between both men, Fubara initially appeared determined to assert his independence and dismantle the structures associated with Wike. However, through a combination of strategic alliances, institutional leverage, and superior political organisation, Wike steadily regained the upper hand, reducing the governor’s room for manoeuvre and forcing a series of concessions.
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The eventual political realignments and outcomes of the crisis underscored a sobering reality: while Fubara occupied the office of governor, Wike remained the dominant force in Rivers politics, proving that under Wike’s political praxis, power is not merely about holding office but about sustaining influence long after leaving it.
His supporters see a leader whose political instincts consistently outperform those of his rivals. His critics see a figure whose influence has become excessive. His opponents often underestimate him at their peril. His allies rarely ignore him. And the public remains fascinated by him. Perhaps that fascination explains why contemporary discussions about Rivers State so often become discussions about Wike himself. The man and the political landscape have become deeply intertwined in the public imagination.
Cassius, in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, tells Brutus, his friend, that “Men at some time are masters of their fates.” Yet politics often reminds us that the fate of one ambitious man may depend heavily upon the calculations of another. In the eyes of many observers, Wike demonstrated that a determined insider can sometimes inflict more damage than an external opponent. Indeed, one of the most fascinating aspects of the Wike phenomenon is his apparent ability to transcend conventional party boundaries.
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Ordinarily, political parties are expected to function as distinct camps with clearly defined loyalties. Yet Nigerian politics has never been particularly obedient to textbook definitions. Here, influence often matters more than ideology, and relationships frequently outweigh party labels.
This reality helps explain the curious spectacle of a politician who is not generally regarded as a card-carrying member of the All Progressives Congress (APC) yet is frequently perceived as wielding considerable influence within circles associated with the ruling party.
His critics joke that Wike possesses the extraordinary ability to shape events in multiple political camps simultaneously. They suggest that while ordinary politicians struggle to control their own supporters, Wike somehow manages to command attention from allies, rivals, and supposed opponents alike.
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Whether exaggerated or not, the perception itself is revealing. Power, after all, is not merely about what one controls. It is also about what others believe one controls. Niccolò Machiavelli understood this concept centuries ago. In The Prince, he argued that appearances often matter as much as realities. A ruler’s reputation can become a political weapon in its own right. By that measure, Wike’s reputation is formidable.
His public persona contributes significantly to this image. He speaks with uncommon confidence. He rarely appears hesitant. He often projects the certainty of a man who regards compromise as an unfortunate necessity rather than a preferred option. Such traits have earned him both admiration and criticism. To supporters, they signify strength. To opponents, they suggest imperiousness. To neutral observers, they provide endless material for political commentary.
One can easily imagine Shakespeare finding inspiration in such a character. The Bard populated his plays with ambitious rulers, powerful nobles, and commanding personalities whose strengths often became their weaknesses.
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Richard III possessed extraordinary political skill but ultimately became consumed by his own methods. Macbeth achieved power only to discover that power itself could become a prison. King Lear confused authority with wisdom and paid a terrible price for the mistake. The lesson running through Shakespeare’s tragedies is remarkably consistent: power is never as secure as it appears.
Sophocles explored similar themes in ancient Greece. In Antigone, Creon becomes convinced that his authority is synonymous with justice. His downfall begins the moment he stops distinguishing between personal will and public interest. The Greeks had a word for this condition – hubris. Hubris is not merely pride. It is excessive confidence, the dangerous belief that one’s judgment could not be questioned and one’s position could not be challenged.
History is filled with examples. Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon believing himself unstoppable. Yet the Senate eventually reminded him that political supremacy has limits. Napoleon Bonaparte conquered much of Europe before discovering that even military genius cannot permanently defeat reality. The Roman emperors commanded vast territories, but their statues now stand mostly as reminders of mortality. The pattern repeats itself across centuries. Power expands. Confidence grows. Resistance emerges. History intervenes.
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This is not a prediction about Wike’s future. It is merely an observation about the recurring rhythms of his political life. For now, his influence remains untouched, undeniable.
Whether viewed as strategist, kingmaker, strongman, or emperor, Nyesom Wike remains one of the most consequential personalities in Nigerian politics today. The question history eventually asks of such figures is never how much power they possessed. It is what became of that power when the applause faded, the crowds dispersed, and the stage lights finally dimmed. For history, unlike politics, is never impressed by today’s authority. Its favourite occupation is reminding emperors that they are mortal.
In Rivers State, discussions about politics frequently return to him. In Abuja, his activities attract national attention. Within political circles, his calculations are scrutinised with the intensity usually reserved for election results. Few politicians command such sustained relevance. Fewer still manage to remain central figures after leaving executive office. Yet influence carries risks alongside rewards.
The more power becomes concentrated around a single personality, the more political systems begin to depend upon that personality’s continued dominance. Institutions can become overshadowed by individuals. Loyalty can become more important than procedure. Political debates can become contests of allegiance rather than contests of ideas. These concerns are hardly unique to Rivers State, but have repeatedly appeared throughout history wherever powerful figures have accumulated extraordinary influence.
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Winston Churchill once remarked that “The empires of the future are the empires of the mind.” Modern politics might add a variation – the most durable political empires are often built not on territory but on perception. By that standard, Wike has constructed an impressive domain.
His supporters see a leader whose political instincts consistently outperform those of his rivals. His critics see a figure whose influence has become excessive. His opponents often underestimate him at their peril. His allies rarely ignore him. And the public remains fascinated by him. Perhaps that fascination explains why contemporary discussions about Rivers State so often become discussions about Wike himself. The man and the political landscape have become deeply intertwined in the public imagination.
Yet history offers one final caution. No political empire lasts forever. No kingmaker remains supreme indefinitely. No emperor, however powerful, escapes the verdict of time. Shakespeare understood this truth. Sophocles understood it. The Romans learned it repeatedly. So did the Bourbons, the Bonapartes, and countless rulers whose names once inspired awe.
Power is real. Influence is formidable. Political dominance can appear permanent. But permanence is the one thing politics never guarantees. And so the story continues. Rivers State remains the stage. Abuja serves as the new imperial court. Political actors continue to enter and exit the scene. Alliances shift. Rivalries evolve. New ambitions emerge. Yet through it all, one figure continues to command attention with remarkable consistency.
Whether viewed as strategist, kingmaker, strongman, or emperor, Nyesom Wike remains one of the most consequential personalities in Nigerian politics today. The question history eventually asks of such figures is never how much power they possessed. It is what became of that power when the applause faded, the crowds dispersed, and the stage lights finally dimmed. For history, unlike politics, is never impressed by today’s authority. Its favourite occupation is reminding emperors that they are mortal.
Onah is the Editor-in-Chief of NATIONAL RECORD and writes this column every Wednesday.
