Offa Revisited: Power, Justice, and Political Restraint By Wahab Oba
By any reasonable measure, the decision by Governor AbdulRahman AbdulRazaq to reopen the painful chapter of the 2018 Offa robbery raises more questions than it answers. At a time when governance demands focus, empathy, and strategic clarity, Kwara State appears to be drifting toward a troubling fixation—one that many now interpret as political vendetta rather than a genuine pursuit of justice.
The Offa robbery remains one of the darkest moments in the state’s history. Lives were lost, families shattered, and an entire community left traumatised. It was a tragedy that shook not just Kwara, but the nation. Yet, after years of painstaking investigation and judicial processes, those identified as perpetrators were arrested, prosecuted, and convicted. That phase of justice, by all reasonable standards, had run its course, unless compelling new evidence has emerged. For now, no such new facts are evident in the charges filed.
Why then this sudden resurrection?
The fresh legal action targeting former Senate President Bukola Saraki and former Governor Abdulfatah Ahmed appears less about uncovering new truths and more about reopening old political battles. Its timing is difficult to ignore. The governor is increasingly embattled, contending with internal fractures within his party in Kwara State and a deepening struggle over succession. Reports of strained relations with key party stalwarts and longstanding allies have become more frequent, while allegations persist that understandings reached with elements of the national leadership ahead of his first-term emergence have not been honoured. Whether these claims are fully accurate or not, the perception of political estrangement is now firmly embedded in the public space.
In such a climate, the instinct to redirect attention is not unusual. But governance is not theatre, and justice is not a prop.
What we are witnessing suggests an administration under strain, defensive, unsettled, and increasingly isolated. The past the governor once dismissed now appears to be reasserting itself in ways that cannot be easily ignored. Meanwhile, those he is widely believed to have sidelined or alienated are quietly but decisively recalibrating the political landscape, leaving him with a narrowing circle of influence and a growing struggle to retain firm control.
Beyond the politics of distraction, however, lies a far more urgent and unsettling reality: the condition of ordinary Kwarans. Across the state, insecurity has taken a frightening and persistent turn, and recent incidents underline just how dire the situation has become. In the small village of Oniko in Moro Local Government Area, residents were reportedly forced to raise a staggering ₦20 million to secure the release of four kidnapped victims, a burden that speaks volumes about the absence of effective state protection. In Kemanji village in Kaiama Local Government Area, a violent attack claimed the lives of four servicemen, with numerous residents also feared dead, leaving a community shattered and vulnerable.
In Ora Ayegbaju community in Obbo-Ile, within Ekiti Local Government Area, families are still counting their losses after yet another wave of violence. These are not isolated incidents; they are part of a growing pattern of insecurity spreading across Kwara North and Kwara South, where armed groups operate with increasing boldness.
Yet, at a time when communities are grieving, when citizens are negotiating ransoms for survival, and when entire villages are being destabilised, the state government appears preoccupied with an unforced political battle with Saraki and other perceived opponents.
Families now live in quiet fear. Farmers are abandoning their lands, unable to risk venturing into areas that have become unsafe. This is not merely a rural inconvenience, it is a direct threat to food security and economic stability. Markets are thinning out, agricultural productivity is declining, and the ripple effects are being felt across the state.
Economic hardship compounds the crisis. The rising cost of living has tightened its grip, leaving many households struggling to cope. Small businesses are collapsing under the weight of declining purchasing power, while unemployment continues to fuel frustration among the youth.
Even policies presented as development have generated unimagined consequences. The urban renewal initiatives in Ilorin, though ambitious, have disrupted livelihoods, displaced traders, and weakened informal economic networks without immediate relief for those affected. For many citizens, the promise of long-term benefits offers little comfort in the face of present hardship.
The optics are therefore stark and deeply troubling: a government seemingly more invested in prosecuting perceived opponents than in confronting present and escalating dangers.
It is within this broader context that the governor’s actions begin to mirror a familiar and troubling historical pattern. Leaders at moments of political vulnerability often turn inward, wielding power not to stabilise their domain but to settle scores and assert control.
History offers sobering parallels.
The Roman emperor Nero, confronted with mounting dissent and instability, turned to persecution and scapegoating rather than reform. As Rome grappled with real crises, Nero became increasingly consumed with targeting perceived enemies, actions that ultimately defined his legacy as one of excess and misrule.
Similarly, King John of England governed through insecurity and vendetta, weaponising authority against rivals and alienating even his closest allies. His reign, marked by arbitrary justice and political paranoia, provoked resistance that culminated in the Magna Carta, a historic check on power born out of lost trust.
The lesson is enduring: when leaders begin to see opposition as enemies to be crushed rather than voices to be engaged, governance gives way to paranoia. Institutions become instruments, justice becomes selective, and power becomes self-serving.
Kwara must not travel that road.
What is required at this moment is not confrontation, but clarity; not retribution, but responsibility. The people of Kwara deserve leadership that prioritises their safety, responds to their economic realities, and unites rather than divides. They deserve a government that confronts insecurity with urgency, manages development with empathy, and administers justice without the taint of political calculation.
Revisiting Offa in this manner does not heal old wounds, it reopens them. It does not strengthen justice, it risks diminishing it. And it does not inspire confidence, it breeds suspicion at a time when trust in institutions must be carefully rebuilt.
The true test of leadership is not in the ability to pursue adversaries, but in the discipline to govern fairly, focus on the present, and act in the enduring interest of the people. Anything less risks reducing a moment of responsibility into a lasting historical cautionary tale.
Kwara stands at a crossroads. The choices made now will not only shape the remainder of this administration but will define how this moment is remembered in the years to come. Leadership must rise above impulse, above grievance, and above the temptation to rewrite the past for present convenience.
For in the end, power is fleeting, but its consequences are not.