The National Interest Vs. The Godfather’s Ego: When Bwala Spoke, Fubara Waz Unchained, And Wike Was Put On Notice -By Psychologist John Egbeazien Oshodi

For over 200 million Nigerians, the events of January 22, 2026, did not feel like routine politics. They cut too deep for that. They entered the raw, sentimental territory of human dignity, the kind of territory where a nation does not merely observe, but feels. Where citizens do not merely discuss, but ache. Where democracy is no longer an idea on paper, but a living thing struggling to breathe.

Because what Nigeria has watched in Rivers State is not simply a dispute between politicians. It is the public humiliation of constitutional authority. It is the slow attempt to turn an elected Governor into an emotional hostage. It is the painful theatre of power trying to prove that votes are weaker than ego, and that institutions can be bent to satisfy one man’s pride.

This is why Nigerians are not just frustrated. Nigerians are wounded.

Governor Sir Siminalayi Fubara has not been fighting only political opponents. He has been fighting an atmosphere. A shadow. A system of intimidation that behaves like ownership. He survived the chaos and tremors of 2025, only to face 2026 with a legislature that has increasingly looked like a puppet theatre, and a judiciary pressured to become a weapon instead of a sanctuary.

And when a sitting Governor is treated like a child in the public square, the whole nation becomes the witness of a disgrace.

The Cry of a Full Soul: “The Bottle Is Out”

Just days ago, at the Glory Reign 2026 service at Salvation Ministries, Governor Fubara spoke like a man who had reached the edge of silent endurance. He did not speak like someone seeking attention. He spoke like someone trying to save his own inner life from collapse.

He offered Nigerians a metaphor so intimate and so parental that it pierced the heart without permission: the image of a child being force fed a bottle.

“A time comes,” he said, “when even a child is full. At that point, the child must, on his own, push the bottle away.”

That sentence was not a political line. It was emotional evidence. It was the confession of a man whose dignity had been stretched until it began to scream. It was not rebellion for show. It was self preservation.

Because force feeding is not care. It is control pretending to be compassion. It is domination wrapped in the language of guidance. It is power disguised as protection. And Nigeria understood what he meant instantly.

He was saying: I am full.

Full of insults.

Full of humiliation.

Full of hints from outside the chamber.

Full of invisible masters whispering orders behind the scenes.

Full of pressure to kneel while holding a mandate given by the people.

In that moment, Rivers State became a national mirror. Nigeria saw itself in the child. A country tired of being force fed political arrogance, tired of being told to swallow pain quietly, tired of watching democratic structures turned into personal property.

And for the first time in a long time, the bottle began to move away.

The Psychological Cruelty of Calling a Governor “Boy” and “Mistake”

There are insults that only sting the skin. And there are insults that destroy identity.

To call a sitting Governor “boy” is not ordinary provocation. It is psychological violence. It is deliberate reduction. It is the attempt to shrink a grown man in front of the world and then demand that he continues to govern while bleeding internally.

To call him a “mistake” is even more brutal. It is not disagreement. It is erasure. It is saying, “Your existence in this position is an error that must be corrected.” It is not an argument about policy. It is a declaration of ownership.

When you call a husband “boy,” you insult his home.

When you call a father “boy,” you poison his children’s pride.

When you call a Governor “boy,” you spit on the ballot that put him there.

When you call him “mistake,” you attempt to bury his legitimacy while he is still alive.

Nigeria must understand what this kind of language does in a fragile democracy. It teaches citizens that elections do not protect dignity. It teaches young people that authority is not earned, it is granted by powerful patrons. It teaches society that what matters is not constitutional order, but the mood of the godfather.

And when that lesson becomes normal, democracy becomes painful to live in.

Nyesom Ezenwo Wike: The Man Who Pushes and Pushes Until the State Trembles

Let us stop pretending that this crisis is without fingerprints.

The pressure has a name.

The pushing and pushing has a name.

The attempt to turn the Rivers State House of Assembly into a removal machine has a name.

That name is Nyesom Ezenwo Wike.

And what makes this Rivers tragedy even more painful is that Wike’s political style has never been limited to one target. He has attacked and abused governors. He has bullied PDP leaders. He has insulted political elders. He has humiliated opponents and allies alike. He has spoken down to people as though the country is his personal courtyard.

Even APC leaders, even those he claims to work with, have not been spared the culture of arrogance that follows him like a shadow. And this is the deepest irony of all: Wike is not even truly APC. He is not a disciplined party man. He is a power man. He is an ego man. He is a centre of gravity man, always seeking to make everyone orbit around him.

That is why Rivers is shaking. Not because politics is happening, but because domination is happening.

A legislature that should speak for the people has often sounded like a chorus for one man’s anger. A House that should guard the constitution has moved like a rented crowd. A democratic institution has begun to resemble a private instrument for political eviction.

It is one thing to disagree with a Governor. It is another thing to hunt a Governor.

Rivers has been forced to watch governance replaced with confrontation, service replaced with sabotage, and legislative responsibility replaced with obedience.

And in a struggling democracy, obedience is often the first door to tyranny.

Tinubu’s Absence and Wike’s 17 Day Theatre of Humiliation

Now Nigerians must pause and look at the timeline with open eyes.

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu was away from the country for about 20 days. And during that window, while the nation watched and waited, Wike did not retreat. He expanded. He moved like a man who believed the centre was silent. He behaved like a man who believed the highest authority would not confront him. He carried himself like someone who felt untouchable.

For about 17 days, he reportedly left Abuja and stayed in Rivers, moving from one local government to another, turning the state into a travelling stage of political intimidation. This was not governance. This was performance. This was a campaign of psychological dominance.

And in that period, the language became uglier. The humiliation became louder. The boy narrative was repeated like a chant. The attempt to shrink Governor Fubara was no longer subtle. It became deliberate.

It was as though Wike wanted Rivers people to see that he could tour their communities, insult their Governor, provoke their institutions, and still return to Abuja untouched.

That is what wounded Nigerians. The feeling that the state was being used as a field for personal ego.

And it is exactly in moments like this that democracies suffer the most damage, not only because leaders misbehave, but because citizens begin to believe nobody can stop them.

The Judiciary Under Siege: When Abuja Begins to Look Like a Private Courtroom

In a nation still struggling to build civic trust, the judiciary is supposed to be the final sanctuary. The last door that still opens when politics closes every other door. The one place where the poor and the powerful are meant to be equal before the law.

But what Rivers has shown Nigerians is terrifying: that even the judiciary can be dragged into a personal war when a godfather’s ego becomes louder than the constitution.

Because the impression created in the public mind is that Wike carries himself like a man who believes he owns judges, especially Abuja judges. That once matters enter Abuja, they enter his territory. That the courtroom can be treated like a corridor for outcomes rather than a sanctuary for justice.

And under that fear sits names Nigerians have begun to mention with heavy caution, not as insults, but as warning bells. John Tsoho is widely viewed as the supervisory figure in that judicial space. Justices James Omotosho, Peter Lifu, and Joyce Obehi Abdulmalik are now reportedly viewed by many observers as judges of particular concern in a climate where suspicion is growing and confidence is thinning.

This is not healthy for any country.

Because when citizens begin to attach fear to names on the bench, it means the nation is experiencing judicial trauma. It means the people are no longer sure that law is law, and that courts are courts. It means the public is beginning to treat justice like politics, and politics like warfare.

In such an environment, the court stops being a refuge and becomes a rumour.

That is how democracy breaks inside the soul. That is how citizens become emotionally homeless.

Now that the Presidency has spoken, Abuja heard it in the way Nigeria’s power system always hears it. Quietly. Instantly. Without ceremony. Those judges got the message, not because they suddenly discovered morality, but because they understand the dark ways of power in Nigeria. They know that when the centre draws a line, the atmosphere changes. They know that files can start moving. They know that scrutiny can become personal. They know that the same system that once looked distant can suddenly look directly at you. In Nigeria, a firm signal from the Presidency is not only speech. It is a warning that the old confidence must end, and that every courtroom must remember it is a sanctuary, not a corridor for outcomes.

This is why Governor Fubara and his deputy were forced to rely on the Rivers State judiciary, the local legal backbone, the internal strength of the state’s institutions, just to survive the pressure and the suffocating attempt to destabilize governance.

Imagine the humiliation: an elected Governor operating like a man trapped inside his own mandate, depending on judicial courage just to remain standing while political machinery pounds the table around him.

That is not democracy. That is suffocation wearing constitutional clothing.

The Presidency Speaks Through Daniel Bwala: When the Bottle Finally Gets Pushed Away

Then came Thursday, January 22, 2026.

And Nigerians heard something they have long waited for: a firm voice from the centre, a boundary from the Presidency, a refusal to allow one man’s ego swallow an entire state.

Daniel Bwala, Special Adviser to the President on Policy Communication, went on Channels Television’s Hard Copy and said words that sounded like the bell of civic sanity, because clarity is dangerous to political entitlement.

He said it directly:

“I agree with the point highlighted by the National Chairman that in Rivers State, Governor Fubara is the leader of the APC. Wike is not a member of the APC, so he cannot speak for the party.”

That sentence was not just party politics. It was a public stripping of false authority. It was a national correction. It was the Presidency reminding Nigeria that structure still exists, and that no man’s loudness can override order.

Then he touched the hidden nerve of entitlement and unpaid debts, the invisible invoice behind godfather arrogance. He said Wike has been “adequately compensated.”

In Nigerian political culture, compensation often becomes a chain. A leash. A silent threat that says, I helped you, so I own you.

But Bwala’s statement sounded like closure. It sounded like the Presidency saying the debt is settled, stop using old political calculations to bully the present.

And then he delivered the boundary Nigeria needed to hear, the line that should shake every godfather who thinks Nigeria is a private estate:

“The President believes in compensating people, but not at the expense of the interests of Nigeria. Once you cross the line, you will know.”

Not at the expense of Nigeria. That is the boundary between national interest and godfather ego.

And as if the Presidency wanted the message complete, Bwala reinforced that even impeachment threats cannot be used like street weapons. He emphasized that any attempt must follow constitutional requirements, and that the party stands against efforts to prevent Governor Fubara from governing, especially with subsisting court orders halting the impeachment process.

This is what Nigerians heard beneath the words:

Stop it.

Enough.

No more using institutions as tools.

No more turning the judiciary into a battlefield.

No more turning the legislature into a puppet show.

No more turning Rivers into a personal theatre for one man’s pride.

If Wike Is Truly Bold, Let Him Reply Bwala

Now, a difficult question sits in the air like smoke.

Wike has bullied governors.

He has abused party leaders.

He has insulted elders.

He has intimidated people across party lines.

He has even spoken with the kind of arrogance that indirectly touches the Presidency itself, as though the centre of authority must tolerate any provocation because of 2023.

So if he believes he is truly bold, truly untouchable, truly above correction, let him dare reply Daniel Bwala. Let him challenge this boundary publicly. Let him test the Presidency’s line.

But deep down, even the loudest ego understands one reality: the centre has spoken, and the centre is tired.

Because the tragedy was never only Rivers. The tragedy was that one man began to behave like he owned Nigeria.

And Nigeria, through the Presidency, has now responded: you cannot control Nigeria.

The Bottle Is Pushed Away: National Interest Must Win

If this boundary holds, then it is not only political management. It becomes a moral reset.

It becomes Nigeria saying we will not normalize humiliation as governance. We will not normalize godfather ego as state policy. We will not normalize the manipulation of the legislature, the coercion of the judiciary, and the breaking of a Governor’s dignity in public.

This is not about worshiping Fubara. This is about protecting the constitution.

A Governor is not a boy.

A Governor is not a mistake.

A Governor is not a tenant.

A Governor is not a prisoner of godfather pride.

Rivers must breathe again.

The judiciary must breathe again.

The legislature must remember its duty again.

And Nigeria must stop crying in public again.

Because when national interest defeats godfather ego, the nation does not just move forward politically.

The nation heals emotionally.

And Nigeria desperately needs healing.

About the Author

Prof. John Egbeazien Oshodi is an American psychologist, an expert in policing and corrections, and an educator with expertise in forensic, legal, clinical, and cross-cultural psychology, including public ethical policy. A native of Uromi, Edo State, Nigeria, and son of a 37-year veteran of the Nigeria Police Force, he has long worked at the intersection of psychology, justice, and governance. In 2011, he helped introduce advanced forensic psychology to Nigeria through the National Universities Commission and Nasarawa State University, where he served as Associate Professor of Psychology.

He teaches in the Doctorate in Clinical and School Psychology at Nova Southeastern University; the Doctorate Clinical Psychology, BS Psychology, and BS Tempo Criminal Justice programs at Walden University; and lectures virtually in Management and Leadership Studies at Weldios University and ISCOM University. He is also the President and Chief Psychologist at the Oshodi Foundation, Center for Psychological and Forensic Services, United States.

Prof. Oshodi is a Black Republican in the United States but belongs to no political party in Nigeria—his work is guided solely by justice, good governance, democracy, and Africa’s development. He is the founder of Psychoafricalysis (Psychoafricalytic Psychology), a culturally grounded framework that integrates African sociocultural realities, historical awareness, and future-oriented identity. He has authored more than 500 articles, multiple books, and numerous peer-reviewed works on Africentric psychology, higher education reform, forensic and correctional psychology, African democracy, and decolonized models of clinical and community engagement.