By Emameh Gabriel
We have built a national culture where the absurd is not the exception, but the operating principle. Just when you think you have seen it all, you are confronted with a new drama that leaves you staring, unsure whether to scream or laugh until you cry.
The recent standoff between the FCT Minister, Nyesom Wike, and a young naval officer over a plot of land in Abuja is one of those moments. It is a perfect, painful snapshot of everything that is wrong with us, not just in government, but in our very thinking as a people.
You couldn’t script a more perfect picture of Nigerian political theatre: a furious minister, a stoic soldier, and a dusty plot of land standing in for the entire country’s problems. On one side, you have Nyesom Wike, a man who never does anything quietly. For him, a simple memo is not enough; he needs a public showdown.
He stormed down to a disputed construction site with his entourage, with the kind of anger we usually reserve for a neighbour who stole a chicken.
He should have handled it through official channels, with the quiet authority his office commands. His language was wrong, and for that, he deserves a firm slap on the wrist.
According to available information,Wike had earlier sent his staff to the site when they were chased back. However, in his usual confrontational manner, he went there to see things for himself, and there, hell was let loose.
But again, you may have reasons not to blame him if you dig into what might have happened behind the scenes.
Look at the way some powerful people grab land in Abuja—it is enough to push anyone to the edge.
So whether Wike was right or wrong, and what truly led him to the site or provoked him to act that way, will all depend on what comes out in the next few days, as the investigation into the issue unfolds.
But here is where we, as Nigerians, so often get it twisted. In our rightful dislike of a person’s character, we throw common sense out of the window and start cheering for sheer madness. And the madness in this case was the sight of a serving Nigerian naval officer, in full uniform, standing guard over a plot of land.
A naval officer. His job description, one assumes, involves ships, water, and protecting our national interests at sea. Yet, here he was, playing bouncer for a private building project in the heart of Abuja, miles from any ocean.
Is our navy so idle that its officers can now be rented out like cheap security men? This is not a side hustle; it is a national disgrace. It tells you that for some of our security forces, their primary duty is an inconvenience, something to be abandoned when a “big man” snaps his fingers.
The most heartbreaking part of the video was hearing this educated, presumably intelligent young man, repeatedly saying, “I am acting on orders.”
My God. Has our education system failed so completely? This is not a complex legal concept. When a order is blatantly, obviously wrong and outside the scope of your duty, you do not follow it. You don’t need a PhD to understand that.
The “I was just following orders” defence was what Nazi war criminals used at the Nuremberg trials. This officer wasn’t being asked to commit genocide, but the principle is the same.
He was using his uniform and authority to intimidate civil authorities on behalf of a private citizen. That is unlawful. If his “orders” had led to a confrontation and someone was shot, that excuse would not save him in a court of law.
And who gave this earth-shattering order? A retired Chief of Naval Staff. A man who, by law, is now a civilian. He hangs his uniform, collects his pension, and becomes, legally, just like you and me. But in Nigeria, retirement is just a change of title, not a surrender of influence. This retired officer clearly believes he still has the power to deploy soldiers like personal errand boys.
It is this arrogant sense of entitlement that is killing this country. It creates a class of untouchables who believe the state exists for their personal convenience.
Now, enter the most frustrating characters in this whole drama: the millions of Nigerians commenting on social media and in beer parlours, hailing this officer as a “hero” and a “professional.” This is where my hope for this country truly packs its bags and threatens to leave. What, in God’s name, is heroic about this?
Let’s break it down for those who are confused. A hero is a soldier who braves enemy fire to save a comrade. A hero is the officer leading the fight against Boko Haram in the bush. A professional is someone who does their actual job with excellence. This officer was the opposite of a professional. He was at his wrong job. He was unprofessional. He abandoned his constitutional duty to protect Nigeria and instead chose to protect the personal investment of a retired big man.
The people praising him are suffering from a severe case of “I-hate-Wike-more-than-I-love-Nigeria” syndrome. They are so blinded by their dislike for the minister’s loud personality that they are willing to cheer for the complete breakdown of law and order. They are like people so angry at a noisy neighbour that they cheer when an armed robber breaks into the neighbour’s house. It is a foolish, self-defeating attitude that keeps us trapped in a cycle of chaos.
They shout, “Wike is a land grabber!” But they refuse to open the law books. The Land Use Act, for all its flaws, is clear. The FCT Minister, like a state governor, is the legal manager of all land in Abuja. He has the power to allocate it and to reclaim it if the rules are broken. Unless a court has specifically stopped him, his actions, however rudely executed, are legally grounded. The retired naval chief has no such power. He cannot just point at a piece of land and send soldiers to occupy it. That is not law; that is jungle justice. That is might-is-right.
This is the core of the issue. We claim we want to be a modern, democratic society governed by rules, not by men. But our actions show we prefer the strongman. We prefer the soldier with a gun who can intimidate a civilian minister, because we don’t like the minister’s face. We are sacrificing the principle of civilian rule on the altar of personal sentiment.
What if tomorrow, a retired officer you personally dislike sends soldiers to chase you out of your own legally acquired property? Will you stand there and applaud the officer for his “professionalism” as you are being ejected? Of course not. But because it is Wike, a man many love to hate, we switch off our brains and switch on our emotions.
This incident is a cancer on our national soul. It shows that the mentality of military rule, where a uniform is above the constitution, is still alive and well in the hearts of many Nigerians. We are a country that prays for peace but celebrates violence. We beg for development but applaud when the very institutions meant to protect us are hijacked for private gain.
That young officer should be facing a court-martial. His uniform should be taken from him. Not to punish him unduly, but to teach a crucial lesson to every serving officer: your loyalty is to the Constitution of Nigeria, not to the whims of any “oga,” retired or serving.
The confrontation is a direct challenge to constitutional authority. By confronting the Federal Capital Territory Minister, that naval officer fundamentally challenged the President’s delegated authority.
In our democratic structure, the FCT Minister exercises the President’s statutory land powers. A soldier refusing a minister’s lawful instruction is therefore committing insubordination against the civilian command structure headed by the Commander-in-Chief.
This incident dangerously suggests that retired officers can countermand serving government officials. If a minister can be intimidated, then the President’s authority can be questioned.
We must choose: will Nigeria be governed by lawful civilian authority or by military intimidation? The resolution of this case will tell us everything about where power truly resides in our democracy.
And for the rest of us, the clapping and cheering section, we need to have a long, hard look in the mirror. We cannot yearn for a sane country while applauding insanity.
We cannot build a future on the shifting sands of lawlessness, no matter how much we dislike the government official standing on the other side of the plot.
Until we learn to despise the act of illegality more than we dislike the person it is being done to, we will remain a nation forever stuck in the sand, arguing over a plot of land while the whole country crumbles around us.
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