Ah, Edo State, the ancient kingdom of Benin, where bronze casters once made art that still makes the British Museum sweat, and modern politicians make drama that makes Nollywood blush. If Nigerian politics is a never-ending telenovela, Edo is the season where everyone keeps switching wigs, parties, and loyalties faster than a market woman dodging rain. Let’s stroll through this glorious chaos, shall we?
Two-Tier Policing: When Open Faces Become Terrorism and Balaclavas Become Civic Duty by Lawson Akhigbe
First, the Palestine Action episode. These were people who did not bother with balaclavas or the theatrical anonymity so beloved of the modern political cosplay set. They targeted warehouses and facilities linked to the supply of arms to the Israeli military. The Labour government, with the practised solemnity of a government discovering its inner authoritarian, reached for the terrorism laws. Proscription followed. Arrests followed. Jail terms followed. Even the barristers who dared to represent them found themselves in the crosshairs. The message was clear: damage property in the service of a cause the government finds inconvenient, and you will be treated as the domestic equivalent of Al-Qaeda, complete with the full legal theatre that accompanies such a designation.
Is Nigeria’s Destiny Already Written? By Lawson Akhigbe
At moments of peak frustration, one is tempted to conclude that Nigeria has become a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah; a place so committed to self-destruction that even the gods have abandoned any rescue plan and are simply waiting for the final chapter.
The High Wind and the Bare Hen: A Masterclass in Federal Disrobing by Lawson Akhigbe
There is a brutally efficient African proverb that cuts through political spin faster than a devaluation memo: When the wind blows, the chicken’s anus is exposed.
The Monumental Ego: How Trump and Tinubu Turn Public Infrastructure Into Personal Billboards By Lawson Akhigbe
There was a time when nations had the decency to wait until a leader was safely six feet under or at the very least, out of office before plastering their name across state infrastructure. The unspoken rule of public memorials used to be simple: let history render its verdict first. If your legacy survived the passage of time without decaying into scandal, perhaps the state would name a secondary school or a modest bypass after you.

