By Ayo Ayodele
“The man that says he no get shishi. I am sending a direct message to him that there is a new sheriff in town. He cannot come to Edo without telling me because his security will never be guaranteed. Whatever happens to him when he’s in a Edo state he will take it. I am serious about it. He came the other day and donated 15 million…by the time he left there was crisis. Three people died. So for that reason tell him he should not come to a Edo without telling me.”
In a nation as delicate as Nigeria—bruised by decades of military dictatorship, ethnic tensions, and fragile democratic gains—words matter. So when a sitting governor, Monday Okpebholo of Edo State, issues a direct, public death threat against a former presidential candidate and statesman like Peter Obi, it is not just reckless. It is dangerous. It crosses a red line.
These are not careless off-the-cuff remarks made in private or leaked surreptitiously. They were deliberate. Public. Recorded. Proudly delivered by someone who swore an oath to protect all citizens, regardless of political affiliation. And therein lies the crisis—not just of leadership, but of democratic values in Nigeria.
The governor’s outburst raises immediate questions:
If Governor Okpebholo truly possesses the authority to “guarantee” or “withhold” security in Edo, where was this power when Fulani herdsmen were terrorizing rural communities in the state? Where was this sheriff when farmers were being killed, displaced, and silenced? Why was no “direct message” sent to criminal elements roaming free and instilling fear in ordinary people?
This selective aggression—targeted only at political opponents—is precisely the reason Nigerians remain deeply suspicious of calls for state police. If governors already use federal security agencies as political weapons, what happens when they get their own armed forces under local command? The result will not be safety or accountability. It will be state-sponsored intimidation.
It is one thing to disagree with Peter Obi’s politics. It is another to issue a death threat, openly admitting that someone’s security will be deliberately compromised unless they beg permission to visit a Nigerian state. In any functional democracy, this would be grounds for resignation or at the very least, a formal investigation. But in Nigeria, the worst anyone expects is a weak press release and a flurry of Twitter hashtags. No consequences. No accountability.
If anything happens to Peter Obi in Edo State, the governor has already confessed in advance.
The reference to Obi’s 15 million naira donation and a supposed “crisis” that followed is a textbook case of scapegoating. Rather than investigate the actual perpetrators of violence, Governor Okpebholo links a peaceful donation to death—simply to criminalize a political rival. This is not leadership. It is thuggery with a microphone.
The silence from national security agencies and the presidency is equally deafening. When a governor can speak like this without rebuke, it sends a chilling message: impunity still walks free in Nigeria.
What Governor Okpebholo may not realize is that threats like these do not make him look strong. They make him look scared. Insecure. Desperate. Real strength lies in political engagement, in winning hearts and minds—not in promising bloodshed for dissent.
Let this be a wake-up call. Nigeria’s democracy cannot afford to be built on threats, fear, and gangster rhetoric. If we allow this kind of behavior to stand unchallenged, it becomes the new normal. Tomorrow, it won’t be Peter Obi. It could be you, your pastor, your journalist friend, or your neighbor who dares to speak truth to power.
What we need now is not more “sheriffs” with inflated egos, but leaders with integrity, empathy, and the maturity to manage dissent without violence.
Because if a governor feels empowered to threaten someone today for visiting his state, imagine what he could do tomorrow—if given a police force of his own.