By Fred Chukwuelobe
Former Kaduna State Governor Nasir el-Rufai has spent three days in detention: first with the EFCC, then transferred to the DSS, or is it ICPC? In another season, Kaduna might have erupted, or so he hoped. It hasn’t. The streets are calm. The political class is cautious. Power has spoken. Power was grabbed, stolen, ran away with. It’s being deployed now.
Meanwhile, his Governor Uba Sani has just been decorated with the title of Renewed Hope Ambassador, a phrase borrowed from President Bola Tinubu’s governing mantra. Titles aside, what matters is this: he holds the reins. And those who hold power understand one enduring principle: stability first, dissent later. If at all.
Power is never empty. It is either earned, seized, or stolen. But once secured, it defends itself. El-Rufai once had it and used it.
History teaches a hard truth: confronting entrenched authourity head-on is rarely romantic and almost never cost-free. Moralists may debate how power ought to be used. Political realists focus on acquiring it, using it, and keeping it.
Some rise to office and wield authourity for the common good. Others climb the same ladder and use it to settle scores, reward loyalists, punish adversaries, or entrench dominance. Power, after all, is neutral in theory but deeply personal in practice.
El-Rufai, a man long associated with the mechanics of hard power, now finds himself on the receiving end of the very machinery he once mastered and used. Southern Kaduna Christians will never forgive him, not in a hurry. I am sure they are celebratory right now.
There is a lesson here, not just for him, but for every political actor: the state is not an equal opponent. Once power closes in, alliances thin out. Voices grow faint. Even the loudest supporters suddenly remember appointments elsewhere. They, too, watch it.
Street outrage has a short lifespan. Institutions endure. Nobody has monoploy of violence – street violence.
You may shout when you have leverage. You may grandstand when you have influence. But when power grips you, you quickly discover a sobering reality: you stand alone. And anyone who stands too close risks being interpreted as standing against power itself. That’s the lesson the man who wanted to stand as surety for the diminutive “Accidental Civil Servant” learnt and picked race.
Perhaps this moment will clarify something fundamental: in politics, power is not sentimental. It does not negotiate from weakness. It does not forget confrontation.
It simply reminds you who holds it. President Bola Tinubu is holding it today. Until it slips right through his fingers, you can dare him at you own peril.
What am I saying? Am I endorsing political rascality or misuse of power, abuse of power? No. I’m simply saying that nobody dares confront power and not be crushed, at least, not in our clime. El-Rufai isn’t an exception no matter how tough he talks. He once had it, and he used it. Heavens didn’t fall. Why should they now fall because he’s at the receiving end of power.
Abeg.
NB: Fred Chukwuelobe, was a Special Assistant to former Governor of Anambra, Chris Ngige on Media and Publicity.
