Tragedy in Oro-Ago: Why Kwara deputy governor should not be made the scapegoat

But in the middle of this legitimate grief, there is a serious danger: the temptation to turn the deputy governor, Kayode Alabi into the symbol of failure for a crisis he does not constitutionally control. That may satisfy emotion, but it does not satisfy reason. Under Section 193 of the 1999 Constitution, the deputy governor only performs responsibilities assigned by the governor; the office is not an independent command centre with autonomous executive authority. In plain terms, the deputy governor does not possess a separate constitutional machinery to deploy troops, direct the police at will, or unilaterally execute state-wide security policy.

Read Also: Nigerian Army rules 2026 CDS Archery Championship

In fact, if we are to be honest, even governors in Nigeria operate within a heavily centralised security structure. The police remain under the command of the Inspector-General, and state commissioners of police may refer a governor’s directives upward for federal clearance. The military is even more firmly under federal command. If the governor himself is institutionally constrained in security operations, then it is plainly unreasonable to pretend that the deputy governor has some hidden independent arsenal of constitutional powers that he refused to use. To blame Kayode Alabi alone for the bandit siege on Oro-Ago is therefore not just unfair; it is analytically wrong and stands logic on its head!

This does not mean public officials should be beyond criticism. It means criticism must be properly directed. A son of Oro-Ago may be morally expected to show empathy, presence, and advocacy for his people, but moral expectation is not the same thing as constitutional capacity. The public can demand visibility, compassion, and louder internal advocacy from the deputy governor; what it should not do is invent powers for him that the constitution does not give him. A fair-minded society must distinguish between the official who can influence and the official who can command. Kayode Alabi belongs far more to the first category than the second.

It is also inaccurate to paint him as someone indifferent to security matters. In an official federal government report, Kayode Alabi represented Governor AbdulRahman AbdulRazaq at an event with troops and top security chiefs in Kwara, where he called for stronger inter-agency collaboration against terrorists, kidnappers, and other violent actors. One may argue that this is not enough—and communities under attack are entitled to say so—but it clearly contradicts the lazy narrative that he is wholly detached from the security challenge. The evidence suggests a man operating within a subordinate constitutional office, participating where delegated, not a man wielding unrestricted executive command and simply refusing to act!

The strident cries from Oro Land themselves indicate something important: the community’s appeal is directed broadly to government and relevant authorities for more troops, stronger protection, and emergency response. Every reasonable critic acknowledges that troop deployment can only happen at the behest of the federal government, far beyond any one deputy governor. That is exactly the point. The crisis in Oro-Ago is not the product of one man’s silence; it is the result of a wider structural failure in rural security, intelligence coverage, forest policing, and state-federal coordination.

Calls for Kayode Alabi’s resignation may sound dramatic, but they are politically simplistic. In Nigeria’s rough political terrain, resignation by a deputy governor rarely strengthens a community’s voice; more often, it removes one of the few insiders who can still lobby, persuade, caution, and press for intervention behind the scenes. People may not like that reality, but it remains reality. Politics is not only about public theatre; it is also about preserving channels of influence. To insist that resignation is the only proof of loyalty to Oro-Ago is to mistake symbolism for strategy. No grieving community should be encouraged to trade its possible access for emotional spectacle.

What Kwara needs now is not scapegoating, but seriousness. The state government must deepen and sustain security interventions in vulnerable communities. Federal authorities must ensure that current operations do not become photo-op responses but enduring protection for villages under siege. Security agencies must investigate the drivers of these attacks, whether they relate to forest criminality, cross-border bandit movement, kidnapping syndicates, or any economic interests thriving under instability. And political actors must stop weaponising a community’s pain for factional advantage.

So let the record be clear: Kayode Alabi can be asked to speak more, visit more, and advocate more strongly for Oro-Ago. But he should not be falsely portrayed as the principal architect of a security crisis that lies within a larger, centralised, and deeply troubled security system.

The people of Oro-Ago deserve protection, not propaganda. They deserve honest diagnosis, not convenient blame. And in that honest diagnosis, the deputy governor is not the commander who abandoned his people; he is a limited constitutional actor caught inside a failing structure that requires broader state and federal action to fix.

•Chief Kareem is Gbadegun of Oro-Ago, Kwara State.