By Abdul-Kadir Abdullah
When Governor Monday Okpebholo stood amid the ashes of burnt shops in Ekpoma on Monday evening, January 12, 2026, his message was neither ambiguous nor politically cautious. It was blunt, emotional, and unmistakably firm. ‘Insecurity in Edo State will be confronted head-on, without exemptions, excuses or sacred cows’.
The governor had visited the scene of the overnight fire that razed shops built by the Police Officers Wives Association, a day after he had visited the palace of the Enojie of Ekpoma and other areas destroyed during the Ekpoma protest. The air was thick with grief and anger as affected traders narrated how their livelihoods were consumed by flames within minutes. But beyond the promise to rebuild, it was Okpebholo’s declaration on accountability that defined the moment.
The governor said, “Even if it were my own father involved in kidnapping, violence or destruction, he would be brought to justice. No one is above the law,”
In a country where political influence and family connections have often weakened law enforcement, the statement resonated as more than rhetoric. It was a public line drawn in the sand, a signal that the Okpebholo administration intends to break with the culture of selective justice.
Standing alongside top security chiefs, including the Commissioner of Police, Monday Agbonika and the Commander of the 4-Brigade of the Nigerian Army, General Ahmed Olatunboju, the governor dismissed attempts to cloak the violence under ethnic labels. According to him, the attackers were not who they were being portrayed to be.
He said, “They are killing our people in the name that they are Fulanis. They are not Fulanis. They are political elements. We have started arresting them,”
That clarification was critical in a tense environment where misinformation can inflame ethnic suspicion and deepen communal fractures. For Okpebholo, the real enemy is not a group identity but criminality itself, and those exploiting violence for political or personal gain.
The Ekpoma fire, coming shortly after protests that degenerated into vandalism, fits into what the governor described as a pattern of coordinated sabotage. His response, however, was not limited to condemnation. He reassured victims that the state would act swiftly to ease their suffering.
Within days, he announced, reconstruction of the burnt shops would begin. Beyond rebuilding, the government would also take inventory of lost goods to ensure traders could return to business without sinking into debt.
Yet, beyond material compensation, the governor’s strongest intervention was moral and institutional. By openly stating that even a close family member would not be shielded from justice, Okpebholo positioned his administration as one anchored on the rule of law rather than personal loyalty.
For residents of Esan land and Edo State at large, the statement carries weight. Insecurity thrives where criminals believe power can protect them. Okpebholo’s words seek to dismantle that belief.
As security agencies intensify efforts, the true test will lie in consistent action. But at Ekpoma, amid ruins and rising tension, the governor chose to send a message that echoes far beyond the burnt shops: in Edo State, authority will not be used as cover for crime, and justice will not bow to blood ties or political status.
In a time when public trust in governance is fragile, such clarity may be one of the most powerful tools in restoring confidence that the state truly stands with its people and against anyone who threatens their peace.
