On March 18, 2025, Nigerians woke up to shocking news: President Bola Ahmed Tinubu had declared a state of emergency in Rivers State. In one stroke, the governor, his deputy, and the State House of Assembly were suspended. A retired naval chief, Vice Admiral Ibok-Ete Ibas, was appointed sole administrator. Democracy—at least in Rivers—was put on pause.
For six months, from March 18 to September 17, 2025, one of Nigeria’s richest and most politically sensitive states was run under emergency powers. Now, as of September 18, 2025, Governor Siminalayi Fubara, Deputy Governor Ngozi Nma Odu, and the Assembly have been reinstated.
So, is this the end of the storm—or just the eye of it?
When governments declare and lift emergencies, headlines often sound final. But Nigerians know better. Beneath the relief, troubling questions remain:
If Rivers State was in such chaos in March, what changed by September? Was peace truly restored, or did the storm simply go quiet?
Did the suspension of elected leaders solve anything—or just set a precedent that it can happen again?
Was this really about protecting citizens, or protecting oil pipelines in the Niger Delta?
And perhaps most haunting: if this could happen in Rivers, could it happen elsewhere?
Rivers State is no ordinary state. It is the economic artery of Nigeria’s oil wealth. When pipeline fires broke out earlier this year—one incident on the Trans-Niger Pipeline in March 2025—it shook more than infrastructure. It shook confidence.
By the time political battles between Governor Fubara and the Assembly reached their peak, the federal government stepped in. Some cheered, calling it a necessary move to stop the drift into anarchy. Others mourned what they saw as a direct assault on democracy. Both cannot be dismissed.
But now, with the emergency lifted, is the state stronger—or just patched up?
On September 17, 2025, the President announced that a “groundswell of new understanding” among Rivers’ politicians made it possible to restore normal governance. But what does “understanding” mean?
Was it reconciliation? A secret deal? Or just exhaustion after months of tension? No official explanation has given Nigerians clear answers. And maybe that silence is the real story—the fact that the people most affected, ordinary Rivers citizens, have had little say in the matter at all.
Six months is a long time in politics. Court cases were filed. Protests were threatened. Lawyers debated whether Section 305 of the 1999 Constitution really allowed the suspension of a governor and lawmakers. Yet by the time the emergency ended, none of those questions had been fully settled.
Which means this: democracy in Rivers State was not just interrupted—it was tested. And Nigerians must ask, what happens the next time a political crisis erupts in any state? Will the solution be negotiation, or another six-month pause button on democracy?
The emergency rule in Rivers is over. The governor is back. The Assembly is back. Life, at least on the surface, looks normal again. But history rarely ends so neatly.
Some will call this a story of peace restored. Others will call it unfinished business. And some may see it as a warning of how fragile democracy can be.
The truth? That belongs to the people who choose to ask, share, and speak out. Because in the end, what matters is not what happened in March 2025 or September 2025, but what Nigerians decide to learn from it.
So I’ll leave you with this question:
Was Rivers State saved—or was it silenced?
