Oyo at 50: The Deafening Silence of Our Elected Leaders and the Politics of Bitterness
Oyo State at 50 is not just another date on the calendar; it is a historic milestone that speaks to identity, struggle, progress, and shared destiny. Fifty years of statehood represents decades of governance experiments, political evolution, cultural pride, economic challenges, and social transformation. It is a moment that demands reflection, unity, and collective ownership. Yet, as the golden jubilee of Oyo State unfolded, one question echoed loudly across public conversations, civic spaces, and political discussions: Where are all our Senators, Members of the House of Representatives, and federal appointees who owe Oyo State their political roots and legitimacy?
More importantly, where are those who will inevitably return to Oyo State to seek votes when the next election cycle arrives?
This question is not asked out of malice, but out of genuine concern for the quality of our political culture and our understanding of public service. Politics, as philosophers have long argued, is inseparable from human existence. Aristotle famously described man as a “political animal,” emphasizing that governance, power, and collective decision-making are natural elements of human society. Whether one is a card-carrying member of a political party or not, every citizen participates in politics—through voting, public opinion, civic engagement, or even silence.
However, the Nigerian political experience, particularly in recent decades, reveals a troubling pattern. Our politics is increasingly defined not by ideology, service, or development-oriented debate, but by bitterness, excessive pride, and entrenched selfishness. This reality cuts across party lines. It is not exclusive to the ruling party, nor is it a monopoly of the opposition. It is a systemic issue that has crept into the very fabric of our political theatre.
Before we become party members, aspirants, appointees, senators, or representatives, we are first and foremost citizens. Political parties are not meant to be vehicles for personal enrichment or platforms for ego battles. They are instruments through which citizens organize to serve the public good. Public office, by its very definition, is about service—service to the people, service to history, and service to the future.
It is within this context that the celebration of Oyo State at 50 should be understood. This anniversary is not about Governor Seyi Makinde as an individual, nor is it about the current administration alone. It is about Oyo State itself—a state that has produced presidents, governors, scholars, cultural icons, technocrats, entrepreneurs, artists, athletes, and political leaders who have shaped Nigeria’s story at both national and international levels.
Oyo State has given many of its sons and daughters platforms to rise, voices to be heard, and opportunities to lead. From the National Assembly to federal ministries, agencies, and parastatals, Oyo indigenes occupy strategic positions of influence. One would expect that such a milestone celebration would naturally attract their presence, participation, or at the very least, symbolic support.
Yet, the absence of visible involvement by many federal legislators and appointees from Oyo State has been both striking and disappointing. Even if they could not attend the central events, nothing prevented them from organizing parallel commemorations, community engagements, lectures, or symbolic activities in their constituencies to honor Oyo at 50. Such gestures would have demonstrated gratitude, loyalty, and a sense of belonging to the state that shaped their political journeys.
Instead, what has dominated the narrative from some quarters is criticism steeped in bitterness. Statements such as “What exactly are they celebrating?” and “They are wasting Oyo State’s money” have circulated widely, particularly from opposition voices. These remarks were not offered as constructive critiques backed by alternative visions or policy-driven arguments. Rather, they appeared as reflex reactions driven by political rivalry.
Ironically, history suggests that many of those who now criticize would likely have organized even more elaborate celebrations if they were in power. This contradiction exposes the deep-seated hypocrisy that often characterizes our political discourse. Developmental debates have been replaced with antagonism, and national or state milestones are now viewed through narrow partisan lenses.
Perhaps one of the most troubling aspects of this discourse is the attempt by some individuals to link the misfortunes of Shooting Stars Sports Club (3SC) to the Oyo at 50 celebrations. The suggestion that the use of the Lekan Salami Stadium for anniversary events somehow caused the club’s misfortne of losing the use of the stadium in the Nigeria Professional Football League (NPFL) games is not only intellectually dishonest but also unfair. Sports performance is influenced by complex factors including management, funding, player welfare, technical capacity, and league administration. Reducing such challenges to a symbolic state celebration is both simplistic and misleading.
Oyo at 50 should have been a unifying moment—a rare opportunity for political actors across divides to pause, reflect, and present a common front in honor of the state. Across the world, golden jubilee celebrations of states, provinces, and regions are treated as non-partisan events. They serve as platforms to assess progress, acknowledge failures, celebrate resilience, and set agendas for the future. Nigeria should not be different.
To be fair, leadership requires courage, and credit must be given where it is due. The decision of Honourable Saheed Fijabi to heed the call of Governor Seyi Makinde and lead the organization of the Oyo at 50 celebration deserves commendation. It reflects a conscious choice to prioritize Oyo State above personal ambition, party sentiment, or political calculations. It is an example of what it means to think Oyo first.
True leadership is not about waiting for perfect conditions or unanimous applause. It is about making decisions in the best interest of the people, even when such decisions attract criticism. By stepping forward, Hon. Fijabi demonstrated that public service still has room for selflessness, collaboration, and historical consciousness.
As Oyo State marks 50 years of existence, the conversation should not end with celebrations alone. It should extend into deeper questions about governance, political maturity, accountability, and civic responsibility. What kind of political culture do we want to build for the next 50 years? One driven by bitterness and constant opposition for opposition’s sake, or one grounded in constructive engagement, healthy rivalry, and shared progress?
Elected officials and appointees must remember that political power is temporary, but history is permanent. The people of Oyo State will remember who stood with the state during moments of pride and who chose silence or sabotage. Celebrating Oyo at 50 is not an endorsement of any government’s shortcomings; it is an affirmation of collective identity.
In the end, Oyo State belongs to all of us—regardless of party affiliation, ideological leaning, or personal ambition. When the drums of celebration fade and the banners are taken down, what will remain is the record of who truly understood the weight of history and who allowed bitterness to overshadow duty.
Oyo at 50 is a reminder that before we are politicians, we are citizens; before we are party loyalists, we are sons and daughters of the soil. To truly serve Oyo State, we must learn to rise above petty divisions and embrace moments that call for unity, gratitude, and forward-thinking leadership.
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