By Mogaji Wole Arisekola
When I relocated to the Republic of Ireland, destiny placed two Irish journalists in my path—Paddy and Mitchell.
What started as friendship slowly grew into something deeper: brotherhood. These Irish Journalists did not just share coffee and newsroom banter with me; they shared their country, their networks, and their trust.
They traveled to Nigeria with me four or five times. They met our politicians, witnessed our fire, our chaos, our color. In return, they opened doors for me in the Republic of Ireland. Through them, I shook hands with top Irish leaders—people like Mary Henry, who was Deputy Prime Minister at the time; Dr. Micheál Woods, then Minister for Foreign Affairs; and Michael McDowell, Minister for Justice.
One memorable day, we journeyed to Northern Ireland. That was where I met the man many described as a political enigma: Gerry Adams, former president of Sinn Féin from 1983 to 2018. He granted me an interview, which I later published in The Street Journal in 2003.
That encounter was not just journalism—it was schooling. It was wisdom served hot. One particular lesson from that meeting reshaped how I deal with people to this day.
He asked me, “Wole, do you know what truly happens inside a person’s head when you ignore them?”
Confusion.
Restlessness.
Mental wahala.
The human mind does not like silence when it expects a response. The moment you refuse to reply, refuse to react, refuse to even acknowledge, something begins to scatter upstairs. The brain starts running like NEPA just restored power after three days of blackout. It searches for answers that do not exist. It manufactures explanations from thin air. It builds stories. It creates theories. It writes full Nollywood scripts just to fill the vacuum your silence created.
Meanwhile, you have moved on with your life.
That is the quiet authority of ignoring someone: no shouting, no insults, no epistle—just absence.
Human beings are wired for closure. When someone talks to us, we expect a response. When someone attacks us, we prepare a defense. When someone reaches out, we expect engagement. It is natural.
But when there is nothing—no reply, no explanation, no emotion—the brain begins to overwork. It keeps replaying the incident like a broken record: “Did he see it?” “Is she angry?” “Are they planning something?” “Do they not care?”
And that last question? That one stings the most.
Centuries ago, political thinkers like Niccolò Machiavelli observed this pattern. Leaders who reacted to every insult and every rumor became trapped in endless battles. But those who chose strategic silence often watched their enemies wear themselves out. Obsession can destroy a person faster than open confrontation.
Imagine someone sends you a hateful message. Their mission is simple: get your attention. They want you rattled. They want proof they have touched your nerve. Even your anger becomes a trophy to them, because it confirms they matter in your emotional space.
The moment you respond—even to defend yourself—you step into their ring. You invest time. You show that they exist in your world.
But ignore them completely?
Now the tables turn.
They keep checking their phone. They monitor your online status. They scroll through old chats. They may send another message. They may start complaining to mutual friends. They replay the incident for days.
And you? You are drinking tea, minding your business, chasing your goals.
So who is really carrying the load?
Ignoring someone is not weakness. It is understanding value. Attention is currency not everybody deserves. Not everybody deserves access to your emotional bank account.
Silence unsettles people because it removes validation. In an argument, at least both sides are seen. In a fight, both are heard. But in silence, one person disappears from the other’s universe.
That disappearance is powerful.
It works on critics. It works on drama merchants. It works on people who keep testing boundaries just to see if they can shake you.
That’s Asiwaju Ahmed Tinubu’s tactic. If you abuse him from today until next year, he will never answer you.
Governor Oluseyi Makinde also follows that school of thought: he prefers to concentrate on his goals rather than engage anyone in a roforofo fight.
The moment you withdraw attention from Akosiberos (people who have nowhere to go), their influence begins to shrink.
But let us not be careless. Silence is not for every situation. It is not for healthy discussions. It is not for genuine misunderstandings. It is not for people who approach you with respect and sincerity.
Silence is for manipulation. It is for deliberate provocation. It is for those who survive on reaction.
And even then, it must be done with wisdom, not wickedness.
There are people who truly wish you harm, those who spread lies, who smile publicly and undermine privately. The temptation to expose them, to fight back loudly, to clear your name by force, can be strong.
Sometimes confrontation is necessary.
But often, noise only feeds the fire.
Calm distance can be more strategic than open war.
Silence can announce boundaries without drama.
Ignoring someone is not revenge. It is self-preservation. It is protecting your mental territory. It is refusing to allow someone to occupy space in your head rent-free.
When you stop reacting, you stop fueling the cycle.
You do not need the last word.
You do not need to win every argument.
You do not need to prove yourself to people determined to misunderstand you.
Let them analyze.
Let them assume.
Let them build castles in the air with their imagination.
You? Focus on growth.
Because sometimes the strongest move is not confrontation.
Sometimes it is composure.
Sometimes it is detachment.
Not every dog that barks at you deserves a stone.
When you wrestle with a pig, don’t complain that your cloth is stained with mud.
Sometimes it is the quiet confidence of knowing that not every voice deserves your reply.
Mogaji Wole Arisekola, Publisher of The Street Journal Newspaper, writes from Ibadan.
