The Silent Struggle of Akoko-Edo: “A People Still Waiting to Be Seen and Heard”

The Silent Struggle of Akoko-Edo: “A People Still Waiting to Be Seen and Heard”

PART FOUR

BY Dr. Obamesoh Afede Omokudu

There comes a point when statistics stop being numbers and begin to feel like wounds. When records are no longer neutral facts, but evidence of a pattern so stark that silence itself becomes complicity. For Akoko-Edo and Owan, that point is now.

Since 1999, Edo North has produced five senators. On paper, this appears like healthy democratic turnover. In reality, a closer look reveals a painful imbalance that no honest observer can ignore.

From 1999 to 2007, Senator Victor Oyofo from Etsako held the seat for eight years.
From 2007 to 2011, Senator Yisa Braimoh from Owan served four years.
From 2011 to 2015, Senator Domingo Obende from Akoko-Edo also served four years.
From 2015 to 2023, Senator Francis Alimikhena, again from Etsako, held the seat for another eight years.
And from 2023 to 2027, Senator Adams Oshiomhole, once more from Etsako, occupies the position.

By the end of this cycle, Etsako will have controlled the Edo North senatorial seat for a total of twenty years, while Akoko-Edo have it for 12 years and Owan have it for 4 years. Not because they lacked capable candidates. Not because their people rejected leadership. But because opportunity never returned.

If this imbalance ended at the Senate, it might be explained away as coincidence. But it does not.

For sixteen years, the office of Deputy Governor of Edo State was held by sons of Etsako—first Mike Ogiadomhe, then Philip Shaibu. The brief six-month tenure of Marvelous Omobayo was invalidated by the courts, leaving Akoko-Edo and Owan with no deputy governorship representation whatsoever since the return of democracy in 1999. Zero. Nothing.

Ministerial appointments—arguably one of the most strategic avenues for national influence—tell the same story. Every ministerial slot allocated to Edo North has gone to Etsako: first Clem Agba for four years, and now Abubakar Momoh, whose tenure is ongoing and likely to last another full term. Again, Akoko-Edo and Owan are absent, not for lack of qualified hands, but for lack of inclusion.

Even diplomatic representation has followed this same narrow path. The only politically appointed ambassador from Edo State has once again emerged from Edo North, reinforcing the uncomfortable truth that access to national relevance is being filtered through a single corridor.

At this point, a question hangs heavy in the air—quiet, but unavoidable:

What is the offence of Akoko-Edo and Owan?

Is it geography?
Is it population?
Is it loyalty?
Is it competence?

Or is it simply that their patience has been mistaken for weakness?

Akoko-Edo and Owan have not withdrawn from Edo State. They have not rebelled against the system. They have voted, mobilized, defended democracy, and contributed to the economic and social fabric of the state. Their youths have served in the military and civil service. Their farmers feed markets beyond their borders. Their intellectuals shape policy and scholarship across Nigeria. Yet, when power is shared, their names are quietly skipped.

This is where the conversation must turn from politics to conscience.

Because prolonged exclusion does something dangerous to a people. It does not always produce anger—it often produces resignation. A quiet loss of faith. A slow erosion of belonging. When children grow up never seeing their communities reflected in power, leadership begins to feel like a distant privilege reserved for others. Democracy, then, becomes an abstract promise rather than a lived reality.

This is not an attack on Etsako. No community should apologize for producing leaders. The issue is not dominance by merit—but imbalance sustained by habit. Equity does not mean taking from one group to punish it; it means widening the circle so that others may finally breathe.

A state that repeatedly draws leadership from the same well while ignoring others is not unified—it is fragile. And history teaches us that fragile systems do not collapse loudly; they fracture quietly.

Akoko-Edo and Owan are not asking for sympathy rooted in pity. They are asking for fairness rooted in justice. For a chance to contribute at the highest levels. For the dignity of being trusted with responsibility. For the reassurance that their citizenship in Edo State is complete, not conditional.

This is a call to the conscience of Edo State. To its political leaders, its traditional institutions, its civil society, and its ordinary citizens. Inclusion is not a favor—it is the glue that holds us together. When any group is consistently left out, the entire state is diminished.

If democracy truly belongs to all, then leadership must also be seen to belong to all.

Akoko-Edo and Owan have waited. Not with bitterness, but with belief. Not with threats, but with hope. That hope is still alive—but hope, like silence, has limits.

Edo State must decide what kind of history it wants to write.

To continue this pattern is to normalize exclusion.
To correct it is to restore faith.

And faith, once restored, can heal wounds statistics alone cannot explain.

Watch Out For Part Five…