Now y’all see.
This—right here—is what the so-called leaders are running from. What they refuse to name. What they wrap in euphemisms and sweep into statements. What they package as diplomacy while people are being slaughtered.
A president speaks, says nothing
The motherfucker president—or whoever puts pen to mouth for him—just released a statement.
Something like:
“This is the time for Governor Alia to act as a statesman and immediately lead the process of dialogue and reconciliation that will bring peace to Benue.”
Pause.
Go line by line.
A statesman?
First, “act as a statesman”—what does that even mean in this blood-soaked context?
Is that what a statesman does?
Shake hands with people burning villages?
Extend olive branches to terrorists?
Form committees while survivors bury their children?
You want the governor—who’s already spineless and lost—to lead a process of dialogue?
With who? The motherfucker!
Dialogue with whom?
You think this is a misunderstanding?
You think the invasion and carnage in Tivland (of Tiv by Fulani) is a matter of bad manners? A breakdown in communication?
Who exactly is Governor Alia supposed to be reconciling with?
The invaders?
The murderers?
This isn’t some dispute over land boundaries.
This is conquest—masked as grazing.
This is invasion—called migration.
You don’t negotiate with that.
You don’t hold forums.
You fight it, motherfucker!
What even is “Benue”?
And what is this peace you want to bring to Benue?
Benue is only a British pidgin. A white-washed label slapped over centuries of identity. Benue names a river, not a people.
The people are Tiv, and we can leave it there, as that by itself is its own nation, and they’re the ones mostly targeted. Nation—not state.
If you're going to lead, start by calling things by their proper names.
The coward’s playbook
And of course, the president throws in the usual garnish:
“Security agencies have been directed to act decisively and arrest the perpetrators of these evil acts.”
Who are the perpetrators, motherfucker?
Name them!
You say “evil acts” like you’re narrating a Nollywood ghost story.
Name the communities being attacked. Name the groups responsible. Name the pattern. Name the policy. Name the plan.
Until then, you’re not addressing shit.
From Abuja, everything looks clean
That’s the thing.
These cowards live cocooned—in Aso Rock, in Governor’s lodges, in capital cities miles from the frontlines.
They don’t hear the gunshots.
They don’t smell the smoke.
They don’t bury their dead at dawn.
So they issue statements. Write “reconciliation” like it’s not an insult. Talk peace—while people die.
The curse of the press release
It’s all performance.
The words are hollow. The promises empty.
And the truth—the truth they won’t say—is this:
They are afraid to name Fulani.
Afraid to call this what it is.
Afraid to act—the lie of “One Nigeria” is more important to them than justice.
The sin of Gowon, fuck you, Gowon. And it lives on. In Nigeria—the motherfucker.