By: Lawson Ojieabu Aigbokhaebholo
To watch scenes of burning markets and a vandalised palace in Ekpoma was jarring in a way that lingers. The shock didn’t come from surprise as insecurity is a lived reality for too many, but from the dissonance between what we know of the Esan people’s political tradition and the raw destructiveness that erupted on those streets.
In the last week, authorities in Edo State have described the chaos in Ekpoma not as a “student protest,” but as a coordinated riot allegedly instigated and funded by people abroad. Officials say those arrested were not Ambrose Alli University students, as widely claimed on social media, but individuals intercepted while allegedly preparing to vandalise properties including parts of the university that was closed at the time and that misinformation has been part of an attempt to destabilise the state.
Let’s be honest: fear and frustration over kidnapping have been very real in Ekpoma and across the state well before these events. There are reports of gunmen abducting residents and students in several parts of the state, a pattern that terrorises families and upsets livelihoods. But let’s also be clear in our language: vandalism and violence are crimes damages the very community whose safety people were claiming to defend.
And, to be honest, this is where it matters to remember the long historical arc of the Esan people because stories like Ekpoma’s don’t happen in a vacuum.
The Esan are far more than a township under siege; they are a people with a tradition of political thought, engagement, and leadership that has shaped Nigeria. Traditionally, Esanland was not a monolith but a confederation of independent kingdoms, each with its own ruler and consultative processes, a governance that rested deeply on the tradition of its people.
From this rich political soil grew figures whose contributions belong in every thoughtful account of Nigeria’s political evolution.
Take Chief Anthony Enahoro born in Uromi, Esan land a journalist and nationalist who was the first to move the motion for Nigeria’s independence in the Western House of Assembly in 1953. That motion, carried forward through relentless pressure, helped set the stage for the independence we celebrate today.
Or Professor Ambrose Folorunsho Alli, the first civilian governor of the old Bendel State and founder of what would become Ambrose Alli University. A scholar and administrator, he brought education and infrastructure to communities that had long been overlooked.
The Esan contribution to politics didn’t stop there. Across the decades, men and women of Esan extraction, activists, officeholders, thinkers participated in national debates, shaped public policy, and often worked across fault lines of region and party. This is not just a local legend. It’s a historical record.
So when we see images of destruction, we shouldn’t let them flatten an entire people into a caricature. History shows us that Esan fighters for independence, educators, and leaders engaged the messy terrain of politics with strategy, debate, and civic engagement not mob actions of violence.
At the same time, we have to confront what has become an unbearable scourge across Nigeria: criminality that preys on ordinary lives. Kidnapping, banditry, and extortion have turned roads into danger zones and towns into anxious waiting rooms for tragedy. None of this is acceptable. Neither should vigilante justice of the mob sweeping accusations, burning of property, or harassment of innocent people be accepted under the flimsy defence of protest. Crime does not beget licence. Justice does not grow from rage.
And yes, let us also speak plainly about mistakes made by authorities. Detaining young people, especially students who have nothing to do with violence, only deepens mistrust if it’s perceived as punishment for expressing genuine grievances. Peaceful protest, free speech, and civic engagement are not luxuries; they are the lifeblood of a democracy.
This moment in Ekpoma ought to be a call not just to condemn kidnapping and insecurity which we should but to reclaim the political culture that Esan ancestors and leaders modelled: measured, purposeful, informed, and directed toward solutions rather than spectacle. Ekpoma has survived threats before. Its people have reason to hope, to organise, and to insist that their voices be heard without turning to destruction.
May the next chapter of Ekpoma’s story bear witness to that deeper legacy, one of reasoned struggle for justice, not chaos dressed up as protest.
Let it be said clearly: *Edo State is not a playground for political mischief makers.* Those who sponsor chaos from afar, who weaponise fear, misinformation, and the pain of ordinary people for narrow political advantage, must keep their distance. Edo has paid too high a price in blood, sweat, and broken livelihoods to be reduced to a testing ground for destabilisation schemes. The people are watching, and history has a long memory.
At the same time, this is a call / an invitation to true democrats everywhere. Those who believe in dialogue over destruction. In institution-building over anarchy. In justice pursued through law, not fire. The work ahead is not for saboteurs; it is for builders.
*Project Edo* can not be driven by rage alone. It requires courage, discipline, and shared responsibility from government and opposition, from traditional institutions and civil society, from youths and elders alike. And beyond Edo, this same spirit must carry us toward a Nigeria that is safer, fairer, and more honest than the one we inherited.
