Every student of politics should now be interested in what will be the end of Wike. Wike is one of those names that mean different things to different people within Nigeria’s political culture. To his admirers, he is courage and capacity, to his critics, he is disruption and excess, and to neutral observers like me, he is simply a fascinating case study in the mechanics of power.
In many ways, he was instrumental to the emergence of President Tinubu, and he has long sat like a lord over the politics of Rivers, having pushed aside nearly every person who once mattered in that space. He waged war against his party, the PDP, and drove it to the edge. Wike waged war against his successor and reduced him to submission. He fights anyone who stands in his way.
He is powerful, loved by many, and deeply irritating to many others. Yet for all his strength, one suspects that Wike does not enjoy peace of mind, because before he is done with one fight, another fight is already forming. From Rivers to Ibadan, Abuja to Imo, and across the country, he is the only right man in his own way. He is constantly in motion, constantly in battle, and constantly singing “agreement is agreement,” while forgetting that politics is merely negotiation and renegotiation.
To his credit, Wike may often be the smartest political planner in every room. He reads everybody’s next move and still creates a countermove. In that self image, Governor Fubara was meant to remain on a leash, manageable through pressure, inducement, and the suggestion that any disobedience would be framed as betrayal of the President and the new federal order.
But politics has a way of punishing anyone who believes control is permanent. The moment Fubara joined the APC, the battlefield shifted, and old tricks began to lose their edge. Whether by real alignment, perceived alignment, or even the mere possibility of a different alignment, once Fubara was no longer boxed into the corner Wike designed for him, Wike’s entire method required review. The fight may remain, but the terrain has changed. When terrain changes, power must either adapt or harden into miscalculation.
It is within this context that the gradually brewing crisis deserves careful attention, because what is emerging is not merely another loud exchange, but a visible clash with vital stakeholders within the Tinubu government and the wider ruling party environment. There is now a fixed showdown with the APC National Secretary, a man who is himself not allergic to confrontation, and who understands that a fight, if properly timed, can yield political advantage, institutional relevance, and bargaining power. When such a figure publicly demands that Nyesom Wike should resign as a minister in Tinubu’s cabinet, it is not a joke, It is about who is permitted to exercise influence, in what space, and on what terms. It is also about the anxiety that follows every coalition built on convenience rather than shared identity, because convenience has no constitution and gratitude is not a structure.
Wike embodies that anxiety in its most dramatic form. He is a man inside government, but not fully inside the party that controls government. He is a man whose usefulness to a winning project is undeniable, yet whose political style constantly reminds the winners that he is not naturally theirs. In every ruling party, there is a crucial difference between allies and stakeholders. Allies help you win, and stakeholders own the structure that decides who gets what after victory. Wike’s problem is that he has operated like both. His support for Tinubu, and his capacity to complicate the opposition’s arithmetic, gave him relevance at the centre. That relevance always tempts a man to behave like a co-owner.
Wike has built his political life on the logic of territorial command. He defines the space, polices the gate, punishes disloyalty, rewards submission, and keeps opponents permanently uncertain. That method is brutally effective when a man truly owns and controls the structure, because it produces fear, and fear produces compliance. This is why Wike insists on controlling the Rivers equation, even when that insistence conflicts with the preferences of the national centre.
The APC leadership is not reacting only to words. It is reacting to what the words represent. When a minister speaks as though a state chapter of the ruling party should be treated like a guest in that state’s politics, the party reads it as an attempt to subordinate its internal structure to an external will. Even where the party has tolerated Wike because of what he helped deliver, it cannot tolerate a situation where its own officials begin to look over their shoulders for permission from a man who is not formally one of them. Once a party believes its chain of command is being bypassed, it will choose institutional survival over interpersonal loyalty every time.
Wike’s predicament is the classic risk of power without full institutional belonging. Informal influence can be louder than formal power, but it is also more fragile because it depends on continuous tolerance from those who control formal instruments. These instruments include party hierarchy, candidate selection, and the legitimacy that comes with membership.
An outsider ally can be celebrated while he is useful, but the coalition that celebrates him can begin to step away the moment his methods create more cost than value. The cost is not only electoral, it can also be organisational. A ruling party approaching the next political cycle becomes sensitive to discipline, structure, and coherence. If the leadership suspects that one person’s shadow is creating factions, confusing loyalties, or humiliating party officials, it will attempt to cut that shadow down. It may not do so because it hates the person, but because it fears the disorder and the precedent.
So the question returns with greater urgency, what will be the end of Wike? If it comes, it may not come with fireworks. Strongmen often do not fall through one decisive attack. They are slowly redesigned out of relevance. The end can look like isolation, with quiet withdrawal of access, gradual loss of influence over appointments, and the emergence of new centres of power within the same territory he once treated as private estate. It can look like neutralisation, with Wike remaining in office, but watching the political value of the office drain because the presidency and the party no longer need his battles. It can look like forced realignment, with him compelled to fully submit to the ruling party structure, sacrificing the freedom of being an independent ally, or losing the cover that federal power provides.
Yet it is also possible that his story does not end in collapse, because Wike is not a novice. The same instinct that made him influential can also help him survive if he adapts. But adaptation would require a difficult shift. It would require a move from territorial warfare to coalition management. It would require a move from ruling by fear to ruling by accommodation. It would require a move from being merely feared to being structurally useful without becoming structurally threatening. Wike may be running out of time.
Pelumi Olajengbesi is a Legal Practitioner and Senior Partner at Law Corridor.
