Akoko-Edo and Owan: The Silent Citizens Who Refuse to Be Forgotten

Akoko-Edo and Owan: The Silent Citizens Who Refuse to Be Forgotten

BY Dr. Obamesoh Afede Omokudu

PART 5

The story of Akoko-Edo and Owan is not unique in the annals of human governance. Across the world, marginalized communities have endured the quiet weight of exclusion, watching their potential be deferred, their dreams sidelined, their voices left echoing in empty halls of power. Yet, in Edo State, the story carries a peculiar cruelty: these are not distant strangers, but citizens who have labored, bled, and believed in the promise of the state. And still, the doors of leadership remain tightly shut.

When the Senate podium is stepped upon by representatives from Etsako, when the deputy governorship is claimed again and again by sons of a single community, when ministerial appointments, ambassadorial posts, and strategic offices bypass capable hands from Akoko-Edo and Owan, it is not mere coincidence, it is a sustained denial of agency. It is a pattern that whispers to the excluded: “You may exist, but your presence does not matter here.”

Think of the children growing up in Akoko-Edo and Owan. Their textbooks may speak of democracy, their teachers may praise citizenship, yet they look around and see only one narrative reflected in the corridors of power. What lesson does this teach? That competence alone is insufficient. That loyalty, service, and sacrifice do not guarantee recognition. That hope, however patiently held, can be conditional.

And yet, these communities have not turned bitterness into rebellion. They have not allowed neglect to harden them into cynicism. Akoko-Edo and Owan have continued to vote. They have continued to build. They have continued to serve, often without acknowledgment, often without applause. In their patience lies an extraordinary resilience. In their silence lies an unspoken dignity.

But dignity cannot thrive in perpetual invisibility. A people unseen are a people at risk of vanishing in the story of their own land. What has been denied is not just offices, it is recognition. It is validation that their labor, their dreams, their intellect, and their commitment to society matter as much as anyone else’s. To withhold this is not governance, it is moral failure.

The imbalance is more than political; it is human. It fractures families, erodes trust, and corrodes the social fabric. It whispers that belonging is earned not by virtue of citizenship, but by the luck of birth or the convenience of politics. And yet, Akoko-Edo and Owan persist. Their farmers rise with the sun to feed the markets of the nation. Their youths serve in defense of the land that seems to have forgotten them. Their elders preserve culture, history, and memory for a state that often overlooks their contributions.

Edo State stands at a crossroads. It can continue to normalize exclusion, to inscribe inequity into its institutions, to allow resentment to fester silently beneath civility. Or it can choose courage, justice, and conscience. It can widen the circle. It can trust that leadership belongs not to geography, not to lineage, not to habit—but to those willing and able to serve.

Globally, the world watches communities rise, shine, and transform nations. It celebrates inclusivity as a benchmark of maturity and legitimacy. Edo State has the opportunity to show that it too belongs to this global standard, that its democracy is more than a ritual of elections, that its leadership is more than a repetition of patterns. It can demonstrate that fairness is not an abstract ideal, but a lived reality.

To the people of Akoko-Edo and Owan: your patience has been heroic, your hope unshakable. Let no one tell you that waiting is weakness. You have waited not in despair, but in steadfast faith in justice. And now, the time comes for recognition. The time comes for your communities to be seen, to be heard, to be counted, not as tokens, but as rightful participants in shaping the destiny of Edo State.

Let history remember that this was the moment when silence ended, when exclusion was questioned, when hope demanded action. Let it record that a state that once overlooked its own found the courage to correct itself.

Akoko-Edo and Owan are still here. They are still believing. They are still ready to serve. Let Edo State rise to meet them.
Because justice delayed is not justice denied—it is a debt owed. And debts owed to people like Akoko-Edo and Owan must be repaid with more than words—they must be repaid with trust, responsibility, and the fullness of inclusion.

Watch Out For Part Six…