03/01/2026
Dr. Nname Ewor: The Manifestation of Wike's Attack Dogs
By Dr. Previous Nchelem
In every prolonged political war, there are not only generals and foot soldiers, but also hounds—trained to bark on cue, to bare teeth when unleashed, and to retreat into silence when their master whistles. Dr. Nname Ewor’s latest outing belongs firmly to this category: less a confession of conscience, more a calculated performance scripted in another man’s courtyard.
Clothed in the borrowed robe of moral outrage, Ewor stands before the public pretending to speak for Rivers people, yet every syllable of his lament reeks of ventriloquism. His voice is his, but the words are unmistakably Nyesom Wike’s—familiar accusations repackaged, recycled grievances repainted, and old animosities reheated for public consumption.
To accuse Governor Siminalayi Fubara of deception is, in itself, an irony so thick it could choke sincerity. For months, the same Dr. Ewor watched silently as political instability was manufactured, institutions were undermined, and loyalty to party ideals was sacrificed on the altar of personal control. Silence then was wisdom; speech now is convenience.
Ewor’s sudden memory of truth coincides neatly with his open alignment with the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory. It is not courage that animates him, but relocation—he has merely moved his tent from one power camp to another and now shouts insults at yesterday’s shelter to prove today’s loyalty.
The claim that Governor Fubara “boasted” that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu would force political actors into submission is less an allegation than a projection. It reflects the political worldview of those who believe power is only exercised through coercion, intimidation, and backroom ultimatums—precisely the culture Rivers State has struggled to outgrow.
When Ewor speaks of peace, he does so with the language of arsonists who lament the smoke only after the fire has failed to consume the house. The Rivers crisis did not fall from the sky; it was nurtured, weaponised, and sustained by those who could not bear the idea of influence without direct control.
The invocation of the bombing of the State Assembly is particularly telling. Ewor remembers the explosion but forgets the climate that made governance combustible. He narrates consequence without cause, tragedy without context, as though chaos is an orphan with no political parents.
His obsession with “peace agreements” betrays another anxiety: the fear that governance may no longer be conducted through secret covenants among elites. By demanding public disclosure, not out of civic duty but partisan desperation, Ewor seeks to convert confidential mediation into political ammunition.
The Ibadan Convention episode is another carefully staged accusation. To fault a governor for strategic absence while ignoring the larger party implosion is to confuse symptoms with disease. The PDP did not become a “no-go area” because of one man’s decision; it collapsed under the weight of years of internal betrayal and ego-driven warfare.
Ewor’s sudden reverence for party discipline is almost poetic. This is the same political tradition that normalised factionalism, celebrated parallel structures, and perfected the art of internal sabotage. To now cry foul over dissolved executives is to mourn a house already sold by its owners.
The so-called caretaker committee he presides over reads less like a rescue team and more like a reunion of displaced power brokers, bonded not by ideology but by shared nostalgia for yesterday’s dominance. It is politics of remembrance, not renewal.
His retelling of Wike’s “thank-you tour” allegations is revealing, not for its content but for its loyalty. Ewor recites the Minister’s grievances with priestly devotion, offering them not as claims to be interrogated, but as truths to be swallowed whole.
That a sitting governor would allegedly agree not to seek a second term, dismantle his own administrative structure, and govern on borrowed legitimacy strains not only credibility but common sense. Yet Ewor presents this narrative with solemn certainty, as though governance were a tenancy agreement signed under duress.
Transparency, in Ewor’s mouth, becomes a selective virtue. He demands openness from the governor but offers none about his own political migrations, his sudden ideological conversions, or the precise moment he chose to exchange party loyalty for personal relevance.
The loud declaration of support for President Tinubu’s reelection finally removes all masks. This is not about Rivers people, accountability, or democratic ethics. It is about positioning—about being seen, heard, and rewarded in the corridors of a new power configuration.
Dr. Nname Ewor’s press conference is therefore not a revelation but a manifestation: the visible expression of a political culture that prefers attack dogs to dialogue, noise to nuance, and vendetta to vision. It is the sound of a man barking faithfully at the gates of borrowed power.
History, however, is rarely kind to such performances. Governors come and go, ministers rise and fall, but the record remains. And in that record, Ewor’s outburst will stand not as an act of bravery, but as another footnote in the long story of those who mistook loyalty to individuals for service to the people of Rivers State.
_Dr. Precious Nchelem is the CEO of Rivers People's Assembly for Transparency and Good Governance._
2nd January, 2026.
