There comes a point in every democracy where the people must look their leaders in the eye and ask, “Is this what we voted for?” In Edo State, that moment came again — bitterly, ridiculously — when Governor Monday Okpebholo decided that entry into his State Executive Council meeting would be determined not by competence, not by commitment to the Edo people, not by productivity, but by the presence of a Tinubu cap on the commissioner’s head.
Yes, you heard that right: no “Asiwaju cap,” no entry. No cap, no Exco.
It would have been laughable if it were not tragic. For here we are, in 2025, in a nation suffocating under economic tension, insecurity, and institutional decay, yet a state governor’s priority is ensuring that his commissioners perform an open ritual of allegiance — not to the Constitution, not to their oath of office, not to the people who pay their salaries, but to a political godfather.
It is the most humiliating public show of sycophancy we’ve seen in recent Nigerian political history — and that’s saying a lot.
The Shame of Edo’s Executive Circus
When the video of the cap-wearing spectacle surfaced online, reactions ranged from disbelief to disgust. There were those who initially thought it was satire — some sort of skit or mischievous social media fabrication. But no, it was real. The governor of Edo State, a man entrusted with the hopes of millions, had indeed decreed that every commissioner must wear a particular brand of cap before being admitted into a serious meeting of government.
And he meant it. He went as far as warning that any commissioner who defied the order “would not be forgiven.”
One cannot help but ask: forgiven for what? For refusing to turn governance into a fashion show? For failing to adorn the political totem of another man while discussing issues of public interest?
This is not governance; this is a cult initiation. And Edo State, proud and historic, does not deserve to be turned into a stage for such pitiful theatre.
From Promise to Parody
Not long ago, many in Edo were beginning to soften their doubts about Governor Okpebholo. He had arrived at Osadebey Avenue with little fanfare, and even less expectation. Critics had dismissed him as a man of modest intellect and uncertain charisma. But as he began to speak calmly and avoid needless controversies, some thought he might yet surprise us — that perhaps, beneath the quiet demeanor, there was a disciplined mind determined to prove his worth.
But alas, the mask has slipped.
What Governor Okpebholo has done with this cap affair is not merely embarrassing — it’s revealing. It tells us who he truly is: a man whose insecurity has driven him to compensate with symbols; a man who would rather be seen as loyal than be remembered as capable.
It is always the insecure leader who reaches for spectacle over substance. Those who are sure of their legitimacy do not need to stage public demonstrations of fealty. A governor confident in his performance doesn’t need to compel his commissioners to wear another man’s hat to prove loyalty.
Edo voted for a governor, not a mascot.
The Symbolism of a Cap — and the Captivity of a Mind
Let’s be clear: there’s nothing wrong with showing respect to the President. Respect is part of our political culture. But when that respect crosses into the realm of forced uniformity, it becomes subjugation.
The “Tinubu cap” has become more than clothing — it is a symbol. It represents allegiance to a political order, a brand of politics that elevates personality above policy, and submission above service. To wear it voluntarily at a political rally is one thing; to be ordered to wear it as a prerequisite for performing your official duties is another matter entirely.
What we witnessed was not a show of party solidarity. It was an act of psychological capture — a statement that the government of Edo must not only serve, but be seen to serve the whims of a higher altar in Abuja.
This is how states lose their identity. This is how regional autonomy dies — not by constitutional amendment, but by self-imposed surrender.
Edo’s Pride, Now a Pawn
Edo State is not just any state. It is the cradle of intellectual heritage in the South-South, the land of Oba Ovonramwen, the citadel of courage, artistry, and dignity. It has produced men and women who stood tall before kings, who refused colonial humiliation, who built institutions of learning and governance with their sweat and intellect.
To now see a governor turning that proud heritage into a costume parade is more than offensive — it’s tragic.
Imagine the irony: commissioners seated around the Exco table, each wearing a cap to please a man who is not even in the room, while the roads rot, the hospitals decay, and the people hunger. Is that what governance has been reduced to — a dress code for servitude?
In this era of skyrocketing inflation and mass unemployment, Edo people did not elect a cap distributor. They elected a governor.
The Dangerous Message to His Cabinet
By making the Tinubu cap a badge of acceptance into government meetings, Okpebholo has effectively told his commissioners: Your relevance depends not on your performance, but on your display of loyalty.
He has set a tone that will destroy initiative. No commissioner will dare to speak truth to power, or challenge a bad decision, because survival in this government is no longer tied to competence but to compliance.
This is how mediocrity multiplies. This is how sycophancy takes root. A commissioner who spends more time adjusting his cap than adjusting policies cannot drive change.
Worse still, Okpebholo has sent a message to future leaders — that it pays to play servile politics. That success in public office lies in pleasing men, not serving people.
A Governor in Search of Approval
There is something pitiable about the entire affair. You can almost sense the desperation behind it — a governor trying too hard to be seen as loyal, afraid to be labeled rebellious, eager to show he belongs to the emperor’s court.
But the truth is this: no amount of branded fabric can buy the respect of Abuja. The only currency of respect in politics is performance.
You can wear all the caps in the world, bow all you want, but when your state remains stagnant, when your roads are impassable, your schools collapsing, and your people disillusioned, not even the most loyal cap will save you from history’s judgment.
The Slippery Slope of Sycophancy
Today it is the cap. Tomorrow it might be a song. The day after, perhaps an oath of allegiance before every meeting. When the line between respect and idolatry blurs, leaders lose their moral compass, and states lose their dignity.
History is replete with such stories. Every tyrant began by demanding small gestures of loyalty. Every despot started with symbolic control before demanding total obedience.
Governor Okpebholo may not realize it, but he has just set a dangerous precedent in Edo politics. He has normalized obedience to personality over principle. And once that seed is sown, it rarely dies.
Where Are the Voices of Courage?
One must also question the commissioners who obliged. Where is their pride? Where is their sense of self-worth? Have we descended so low that public officers, grown men and women, will humbly queue to wear a party symbol just to keep their seats at the table?
Edo has produced giants — men and women who once challenged power, not cowered before it. Today, those who should represent the people’s voice now giggle under caps, afraid to lose favor. It is a disgrace, not just to the office they occupy, but to the dignity of public service.
If even one commissioner had refused — had stood up and said, “Sir, I came here to serve Edo, not to dress for Abuja” — that person would have walked into history as a hero. But silence reigned. Conformity triumphed.
Governance, Not Costume Drama
Let us remind Governor Okpebholo of what truly matters. Governance is not about optics; it’s about outcomes. Leadership is not a costume contest; it is a covenant.
Edo people do not care what cap their commissioners wear. They care about jobs, roads, healthcare, and security. They care about fairness in contracts, transparency in spending, and humility in service.
The Governor has no business policing headwear when the state’s debt profile is rising, when workers are groaning under inflation, and when local governments are mere shadows of themselves.
A Call to Redemption
It is not too late for Governor Okpebholo to retrace his steps. Edo people are forgiving, but they are not forgetful. The path to redemption lies in substance, not showmanship.
He can yet rise above this self-inflicted ridicule by demonstrating courage — by focusing on results, not rituals. The true way to honor President Tinubu is to deliver good governance, to make Edo a model state that reflects the Renewed Hope agenda in real terms, not in costume.
Every great leader must, at some point, decide who he truly serves. Okpebholo must choose — between the applause of political masters and the approval of posterity.
Because when the music of politics stops and the caps are removed, only one question will remain: Did he serve Edo well?
If he cannot answer that with evidence, then the caps will not just symbolize loyalty — they will symbolize failure.
Conclusion: Remove the Cap, Restore Your Head
Governor Okpebholo has embarrassed Edo people. He has mocked governance. But more importantly, he has exposed how deeply insecurity can cripple leadership.
True power does not need to dress up. It does not need a cap to prove its worth. It speaks through ideas, through courage, through impact.
Edo deserves a governor, not a pageant host. The state deserves leadership that commands respect, not demands costumes.
If the Governor truly wishes to leave a mark on history, he must shed this garment of servitude and rediscover his own head. Because no man who hides behind another man’s symbol can ever stand tall in his own right.
Prince Omokhodion Okojieis a Public Affairs Commentator and Social Advocate, Benin City
