Power has a way of blurring mirrors. Those who stand too long before it sometimes forget to look beyond their own reflections. In Rivers State, Speaker Martin Amaewhule appears caught in such a moment, gazing at a past conflict as though it were the present, refusing to acknowledge that time, law, and circumstance have moved on.
Reality, unlike political rhetoric, is stubborn. The budget for the current year did not emerge from shadows or subterfuge. It was presented, debated, passed, and signed into law during the period of emergency rule declared by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. That process, though born of crisis, was lawful, constitutional, and binding.
Emergency rule was not a suspension of reason nor a burial of institutions. It was a bridge built over chaos, allowing governance to continue when tempers threatened to drown it. To question the legitimacy of actions taken during that period is to question the very constitution that empowered them.
It is therefore troubling that even in moments meant to signal reconciliation and political maturity, Speaker Amaewhule appears unable to shed the language of confrontation. His speech while welcoming Governor Siminalayi Fubara into the All Progressives Congress (APC) was widely viewed as disrespectful—not just to the office of the Governor, but to the people of Rivers State themselves.
Going by the Constitution of the APC, the Governor of a state automatically assumes the position of leader of the party in that state. This is not a matter of sentiment but of clear party doctrine. If Amaewhule and the sixteen other members of the House of Assembly laying claim to APC membership are indeed card-carrying members of the party, loyalty, discipline, and respect for party hierarchy are not optional virtues—they are obligations.
In this regard, the Rivers State APC Chairman, Chief Tony Okocha, demonstrated the right attitude and proper understanding of party structure when he formally presented APC membership card number 0001 to Governor Fubara at Government House. That simple but symbolic act spoke louder than rhetoric: it affirmed leadership, unity, and respect for constituted authority.
Amaewhule’s difficulty, it seems, lies in role confusion. Until he fully accepts himself as Speaker of the House—and not a parallel Governor—he will continue to misread both the moment and his place within it. Governance cannot thrive where egos compete for supremacy instead of serving complementary roles.
Yet reconciliation is the word now on Amaewhule’s lips, spoken softly and often. Words, however, must walk on the legs of action. If reconciliation is sincere, why do the seats of Oko Jumbo, Sokari Goodboy, Adolphus, and Edison Ehie remain cold and empty in the Assembly chambers?
Absence, when enforced, becomes a language of exclusion. It whispers that forgiveness has limits and that unity is conditional. A house that locks out some of its own cannot convincingly claim to stand for harmony.
One is compelled to ask, almost in disbelief: has the Rivers State House of Assembly been reduced to 27 voices? Are the constituencies of the suspended lawmakers now ghosts, remembered only during elections and forgotten in governance?
Democracy does not survive on convenience. It breathes through representation. When elected voices are muted, it is not only politicians who are silenced but the people who sent them there.
Since the lifting of the emergency that warranted a six-month suspension, another silence has echoed loudly—the absence of Amaewhule and his colleagues from official government functions. Leadership that refuses to show up cannot complain of being sidelined.
Governance is not a duel fought from opposite corners; it is a table at which all must sit, even when the meal is bitter. To stay away is to abandon the very ground on which cooperation is built.
From this distance, Amaewhule’s accusation that Governor Siminalayi Fubara is deliberately sidelining lawmakers sounds like a cry made with one foot outside the room. Participation cannot be demanded while presence is withheld.
His claims of unauthorized spending from the 2024 and 2025 budgets float free of context, detached from the extraordinary conditions under which emergency rule operated. Truth, when stripped of context, becomes a convenient half-light rather than illumination.
Rivers State is weary of crises announced like seasons, returning with predictable bitterness. Each accusation, each counter-accusation, reopens wounds that never had time to heal. Leadership should be a balm, not a blade.
To accuse the governor of plotting another crisis while clinging to unresolved grievances is to light a candle and curse the darkness at the same time. Peace demands sacrifice, humility, and the courage to let go.
History is an unforgiving archivist. It will not record how loudly leaders spoke, but how wisely they acted. It will remember who chose dialogue over defiance, inclusion over exclusion, and statecraft over spectacle.
The moment has arrived for Speaker Amaewhule to come to terms with reality. The law has taken its course, party leadership has been clearly defined, the state has moved forward, and reconciliation must be lived, not merely proclaimed. Rivers State deserves leaders who can step out of yesterday’s shadows and walk firmly into the light of responsibility.
_Amieyeofori Ibim is a seasoned Journalist, Political Analyst and Public Affairs Commentator._
