When Power Forgets Its People: A Call to Conscience In Boki And Beyond

By Mike Onah

There comes a time in the life of a people when silence begins to feel like consent, and patience starts to look like surrender. That time is now.

Across Boki, and by extension Cross River State, a quiet but painful truth hangs in the air: many of those entrusted with power have drifted far from the people. What was meant to be leadership has, in some places, hardened into control. What should have been service now resembles entitlement. And what ought to unite us is slowly dividing us.

The signs are not hidden. They are seen in how voices are ignored, how opportunities are hoarded, and how ordinary people are made to feel small in their own land. It is felt in the widening gap between those who lead and those who are led. Increasingly, our communities are being pushed toward a dangerous pattern—one that echoes a master-servant relationship, where dignity is unevenly distributed and respect is no longer mutual.

This is not who we are.

Boki people, and Cross Riverians at large, are known for strength, community, and deep cultural pride. Our heritage is built on shared values—respect for one another, fairness, and the understanding that leadership is a sacred trust, not a personal reward. When these values are abandoned, the consequences are not just political; they are deeply human.

Elite decadence and unchecked excess do more than offend—they erode trust. And once trust is broken, even the strongest institutions begin to weaken. A society cannot thrive where a few prosper at the expense of many, where power is exercised without restraint, and where the cries of the people go unanswered.

As Prof. Kelvin Etta rightly reminds us:
“The essence of power is the restraint in which that power is exercised; the worst enemy known to man is the arrogance of power.”

These words are not just a warning—they are a mirror. Power, in itself, is not the problem. It is how that power is used that defines its worth. When power becomes arrogant, it blinds. It forgets the very hands that lifted it. It stops listening. And in that silence, injustice grows.

But this is not a message of condemnation alone—it is a call to reflection and renewal.

To our leaders: the people are not beneath you; they are the reason you stand. Leadership is not proven in comfort, but in compassion. Not in distance, but in connection. The strength of your legacy will not be measured by how much authority you held, but by how many lives you uplifted.

To our people: we must not lose ourselves in frustration. We must hold on to our values—peace, unity, and a shared sense of purpose. Change does not begin with anger alone; it begins with clarity, courage, and a commitment to something better.

We must strive to build a culture where love is not seen as weakness, where peace is not mistaken for silence, and where harmony is not sacrificed for personal gain. Our future cannot be built on the foundations of fear or division. It must stand on fairness, accountability, and mutual respect.

This is our moment to choose a different path.

Let us reject the slow return to feudal thinking. Let us remind ourselves—and those who lead us—that power is at its best when it serves, when it listens, and when it uplifts.

Boki deserves better. Cross River deserves better. And together, we can demand it—not with bitterness, but with a firm and unwavering belief in what is right.

Because in the end, true leadership is not about being above the people.
It is about standing with them.

Mike Onah writes from the grasslands of Abakpa Ogoja