By Petra Akinti Onyegbule
I have been thinking about two men, Rotimi Akeredolu, Yahaya Bello.
I don’t know what you think about either men. One thing that cannot be said of them is that they were soft on insecurity. Never.
Akeredolu practically dragged Amotekun into existence.
He fought for it. He defended it. He argued for it. Went toe to toe with the FG and never backed down.
At a time when many preferred diplomatic language, he spoke with urgency because he understood what was at stake.
The South-West forests were becoming vulnerable.
Rural communities were becoming fearful.
Highways were becoming dangerous.
He saw the danger early and sounded the alarm.
For that, there was a price to pay; the Owo massacre happened. Right in Akeredolu’s home town. Men, women and children were slaughtered in a place of worship.
The entire nation wept. The South-West vowed “never again!” Or so I thought.
Today, I look around and I ask: what happened to that resolve? What happened to that fire? Did those worshippers die in vain? Did Akeredolu’s struggle for a safer southwest while he battled cancer amount to nothing more than headlines and ceremonies? Why are there men and women of all ages languishing in captivity along with children?
And then my mind travels home to Kogi State where I woke up to news of an abduction in Aiyegunle-Bunu, Kogi West and I recall the Bello-era.
Kogi state is the only state bordered by ten states and the FCT. By every criminal calculation, it should be one of the easiest places in Nigeria for kidnappers, bandits and violent criminals to operate.
Yet for years, criminals knew there was a price to pay if they chose to operate in Kogi State.
Whatever anybody thinks about Yahaya Bello, one thing was clear: he hunted criminals with a ferocity that left no doubt about where he stood.
The message was simple: “Not here. Not in Kogi. Not on my watch.”
And he devised and executed a multiple approach to deal with criminals. He made the state too hot for them to operate.
Criminals study governments. They know when leaders are angry. They know when consequences are certain. And sadly, they also know when vigilance has weakened.
Why do some of our biggest security victories seem to fade once the men who championed them leave office?
Why are we so good at building movements around personalities but so poor at building institutions that survive them?
If Amotekun was truly a regional security vision, why does it feel like the passion behind it died with Akeredolu? Where is the fire? Where is the urgency?
If securing Kogi was truly a state philosophy, why should its success depend on the presence or absence of one governor?
We celebrate fighters when they are alive, praise them when they are gone. But too often, we abandon the battles they fought.
What happens to inheriting their convictions and not just string out speeches at their memorials?
And to our President, Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of the Federal Republic of Nigeria Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu, I ask this:
What will it take for this country to see the full weight of presidential anger against insecurity?
What will it take for criminals to know there is no hiding place left in Nigeria as much as we understand this is not a regular warfare?
What will it take for governors who collect billions in security votes, yet continually plead helplessness, to understand that leadership carries responsibility?
Yahaya Bello did not have state police. Akeredolu did not have state police. Yet both men demonstrated that leadership, political will and clarity of purpose can alter the security equation. No governor should have an excuse.
Who do we intend to govern if our people are kidnapped, displaced, terrorised and afraid?
Mr. President, no region should be left to fend for itself. No Nigerian should become accustomed to captivity as a way of life.
Mr. President, bring our captives home.