The Yoruba say, when a man forgets the ladder that took him to the top of the iroko tree, the fall that awaits him will be narrated as a proverb.

On Thursday, Ibadan stood still for its king. Oba Rashidi Adewolu Ladoja clocked 82. Not 82 years of mere age, but 82 years of bruises, battles, betrayals and benediction. A former Senator. A former Governor. An elder statesman who, like Oduduwa, returned as king. The following day, Friday, Oba Ladoja also clocked one year on the throne of his forefathers.

Ibadan celebrated him. Nigeria celebrated him. The Presidency sent greetings. Former governors knelt. Serving governors bowed. The Alaafin of Oyo paid tribute. The Soun of Ogbomoso poured libation of words. Even the Aseyin, far in Iseyin, bought a full page in a national daily to say: our father lives.

But in Agodi Government House, there was silence. Cold, deliberate, imperial silence.

Governor Seyi Makinde did not felicitate his king. No advert. No statement. No courtesy of any sort extended. Nothing. His protégé, Bimbo Adekanmbi, toed the same line of contempt. For 48 hours, Ibadan people waited for a word that never came, until shame forced a whisper.

We must ask: what manner of politics is this?

In 2019, it was this same Ladoja who held Makinde’s hand when Makinde had no hand to hold. It was Ladoja who coordinated the coalition, who gathered the angry, the broken and the hopeful, and stitched them into a garment called victory for a man who had never won anything before. Without Ladoja, there would have been no Omituntun in 2019. And the man knows it.

Philosophers call it the Paradox of Power. Machiavelli warned about it in “The Prince”: that power acquired through the mercy of others must be sustained by gratitude, otherwise it consumes itself. Plato called such rulers philosopher-kings who failed philosophy. Men who know how to win power but not how to carry it.

History is littered with them.

Emperor Nero of Rome who burnt the city that made him emperor. King Rehoboam in the Bible who told the elders who made him king: “My little finger shall be thicker than my father’s waist.” Emperor Commodus who thought Rome was his father’s farm and turned the palace into a circus until the circus swallowed him.

Seyi Makinde governs like them — as an emperor, not as an Omoluabi. A man who believes loyalty must flow upwards to him, but must never flow downwards from him. He rides on the shoulders of giants and then complains that the giants are too tall.

Today it is Ladoja he snubs. Yesterday it was the Alaafin. The day before, the Soun. Tomorrow, which Oba will taste his disdain? He has transferred his personal hatred for the Olubadan stool into a war against all royal stools in Oyo State. That is not politics. That is poison.

And what shall we say of Bimbo Adekanmbi, his political son, who has learnt this ignoble art of ingratitude so perfectly? The Yoruba say, “the child who says his mother will not sleep, he too will not sleep.” To watch a man seeking to be governor practise contempt for the throne he seeks to govern is a disaster foretold.

Oyo people know Omituntun 2.0 for what it is — a poisonous pill coated with sweet advertisement. If 2.0 can openly humiliate an 82-year-old first-class monarch who made him, what will Omituntun 3.0, headed by his anointed, do? It will be the unkindest cut of all. It will be the complete desecration of the Omoluabi ethos that Ibadan and Oyo hold sacred.

Seyi Makinde will be remembered. Not for the roads that crack before commissioning. Not for the parks that lead to nowhere. He will be remembered as the governor who rode on the backs of eminent men and made every one of them regret that they ever lent him their shoulders.

Ladoja at 82 needs no advert from Agodi to be great. The king’s greatness is not conferred by the governor. But the governor’s smallness is exposed by how he treats his king.

Oyo people, shine your eyes. This affliction must not rise a second time.

In response to my brother, Shuaib Idris, who wrote the piece titled “Seyi Makinde Deserves Our Sympathy,” I submit that Seyi Makinde does not deserve our sympathy. How do you sympathise with somebody who brought political calamity upon himself?

There is a point in every political journey when a leader must pause, look around and ask himself a difficult question: How did I get here? For Governor Seyi Makinde, that moment has long arrived.

Much has been written and said about the governor’s increasingly combative public interventions, his exchanges with political opponents and his determination to market the candidacy of his preferred successor. Some have interpreted these developments as signs of pressure surrounding him. But sympathy, in this circumstance, may be misplaced.

If Governor Makinde is under pressure today, much of that pressure is self-inflicted. If his administration is now being subjected to increasingly intense scrutiny, he cannot reasonably blame those asking the questions. And if political opponents have become emboldened enough to challenge his record openly, he should perhaps examine the decisions and conduct that have created the circumstances in which those challenges are now flourishing.

The governor’s recent political conduct provides ample illustration.

At the 70th birthday celebration of Bishop Francis Wale Oke, the governor reportedly used his appearance to introduce Bimbo Adekanmbi, the APM governorship candidate whom he supports. Adekanmbi’s emergence as the APM candidate is not in dispute; the party adopted him as its consensus candidate in May.

Two things continue to haunt him: his subpar performance in office and what critics describe as his imposition of Adekanmbi and Open Salawu, new entrants into his team, on his “first eleven.”

The question, therefore, is not whether Governor Makinde has the right to support a candidate. He does. The question is why a governor who repeatedly speaks of his administration’s achievements appears increasingly eager to make the 2027 succession contest a personal project.

A governor nearing the end of his tenure should ordinarily be concerned about preserving the dignity of the office, defending his record with facts and allowing his preferred candidate to present his own credentials. Indeed, Adekanmbi himself has publicly said he would not be a political stooge and that he would take responsibility for his own decisions if elected. That is political rhetoric. However, everything about Adekanmbi, according to his critics, points to the possibility of his being a stooge waiting to be planted to do Makinde’s bidding after the latter leaves office in 2027.

Yet Governor Makinde has increasingly inserted himself into the political conversation surrounding his successor. That creates an unavoidable question: if Adekanmbi is sufficiently qualified and politically prepared to succeed him, why does the governor so frequently feel compelled to fight the successor’s battles himself?

This is where the argument about pressure becomes particularly relevant. Political pressure does not simply descend from heaven. It can be generated by the choices of the politician himself.

Consider the recent exchange with Senator Sharafadeen Alli over the legal profession. Governor Makinde reportedly questioned Alli’s experience as a lawyer, arguing that he had never entered a courtroom. Alli’s campaign organisation subsequently responded by detailing his legal background and professional experience.

There is nothing wrong with political candidates examining one another’s records. That is part of democratic competition. But reducing a lawyer’s professional identity to courtroom appearances is a curious line of attack, particularly when the political argument ought ultimately to be about competence, experience, policy and public record.

A lawyer can practise in several areas of the profession without making litigation the centre of his career. Administrative work, corporate practice, legal consultancy, governance and institutional management are among the possible avenues available to members of the profession.

The larger point, however, is this: when an incumbent administration turns the professional credentials of an opponent into a central campaign issue, it invites its own record to be placed under the microscope. So, why does he need to be sympathised with over what he brought upon himself?

The response from Alli’s camp has shifted attention towards questions about Makinde’s own record as an engineer and governor, particularly the controversy surrounding diesel-powered streetlights and the renovation of the Lekan Salami Stadium. Those are now matters of public political debate, with competing claims about expenditure and performance. How do you sympathise with someone who threw a stone and received a Scud missile?

This is the unavoidable consequence of political combat: once you open the door to scrutiny of another man’s credentials, you should expect yours to be examined with equal intensity. Governor Makinde cannot reasonably demand immunity from the same standard he applies to others.

The same principle applies to his much-advertised “first eleven.” If the governor describes his administration as being driven by a carefully assembled team of exceptional people, the public is entitled to ask what became of that team when the question of succession arose. Why was the search for a successor extended beyond this celebrated first eleven?

A football coach who constantly boasts about his first eleven naturally invites the question of who among that eleven can step forward when the captain leaves the field. If none is selected, his team’s fans will ask why. That is not persecution. It is accountability.

There is another issue the governor should confront: political loyalty. Governor Makinde did not arrive at the Government House in 2019 in isolation. His political journey involved alliances with people and groups who contributed to the coalition that eventually produced his victory. The political history of that period is well known and should not be rewritten simply because former allies and associates are now on different sides of the political divide.

The problem with “use and discard” politics is that yesterday’s ally eventually becomes tomorrow’s witness. People who helped build a political structure do not disappear simply because their usefulness has expired. And when they begin speaking, the politician who once relied on them may find himself answering questions he never anticipated.

That appears to be part of the political atmosphere surrounding Governor Makinde today. His confrontation with traditional institutions is another matter that requires careful reflection. Whatever one’s political affiliation, Yoruba traditional institutions occupy a distinctive place in the cultural architecture of Oyo State. Political disagreement with individual traditional rulers is legitimate; treating the institution itself with disdain is entirely wrong, and it raises questions about Makinde’s Omoluabi values.

A governor may disagree with a monarch’s political preference. He may even believe traditional rulers should remain politically neutral. But the language employed in expressing that disagreement matters.

The office of governor carries enormous constitutional authority, but it also carries a moral obligation to exercise restraint. A governor should not need to be reminded that words spoken from Government House do not remain personal words. They acquire the weight of the office. That is why some of Governor Makinde’s recent public exchanges have generated such controversy.

The irony is that political power is temporary, while institutions and relationships often outlive individual office holders. The governor should know this better than most.

He is approaching the end of his constitutionally permitted tenure in Oyo State. The political question before him is therefore not how to remain governor indefinitely, but what legacy he will leave behind. Will he be remembered primarily for the projects executed under his administration? For the policies introduced? For the institutions strengthened? Or increasingly for the political battles fought during the final phase of his tenure? The last question is what will occupy people’s minds most after Makinde has left office.

The most consequential political mistake an incumbent can make is to interpret every criticism as persecution and every opponent as an enemy. Criticism is not necessarily hatred. Opposition is not necessarily sabotage. Questions about public expenditure are not necessarily attacks on a person. And scrutiny of an administration is not evidence of an organised conspiracy.

A mature government answers questions. A confident administration publishes records. A secure political movement allows its candidate to speak. And a governor who believes his record speaks for itself should have little reason to spend every available political moment speaking for his preferred successor.

That is why sympathy for Governor Makinde is evidently misplaced. The political pressure surrounding him today is not simply something that happened to him. It is also the product of political decisions, alliances, rhetoric and strategies that he and his political associates have consciously pursued.

He chose his successor. He chose his political platform. He chose to engage his opponents. He chose to make their records a subject of public debate. He chose to defend his administration through increasingly political exchanges. Those choices have consequences.

The electorate is now watching. And when the people begin to ask questions, the appropriate response from a governor is not to complain about pressure. It is to provide answers. Oyo people do not owe any politician sympathy for the consequences of his political choices. They owe themselves something far more important: a careful examination of every candidate, every record, every promise and every claim before making their decision in 2027.

Politics — that masquerade that never dances the same step twice.

Who would have thought it?

Who, after the political bruising of 2023, after the detour to Accord and the eventual return to the political fold, culminating in a ministerial appointment under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, would have imagined that Bayo Adelabu would one day find himself politically associated with a movement backing Seyi Makinde and the Allied Peoples Movement (APM)?

Yet here we are.

Recent developments surrounding the Boye Nation movement have raised questions in Oyo’s political circles. Ajiboye Akande Sangogade, popularly known as Boye Nation and identified in reports as an aide to Adelabu, is leading a movement that is expected to formally declare for the APM at a youth-focused event scheduled for September 21, 2026, at the Lekan Salami Stadium, Adamasingba, Ibadan. Organisers say Governor Seyi Makinde is expected to attend.

That development naturally raises a political question: where exactly does Adelabu stand?

The question becomes even more compelling against the background of the 2027 Oyo governorship contest.

Adelabu had sought the APC governorship ticket, but Senator Sharafadeen Alli eventually emerged as the party’s candidate. The APC formally unveiled Alli and his running mate, Adesoji Adedeji, in July. Adelabu, however, had previously rejected the claim that Alli’s emergence represented a consensus arrangement and maintained that President Tinubu had backed his own ambition.

Now, with one of his prominent political associates leading a movement into the camp of another party, the political temperature has understandably risen.

The question being whispered across Ibadan is simple: is this merely the independent political decision of an aide and his supporters, or does it reflect a larger political strategy?

That question deserves an answer.

Because in politics, proximity is rarely meaningless.

If an associate who has operated closely within a politician’s political structure suddenly becomes a leading face of another political platform, observers will naturally ask whether the principal is aware, supportive, opposed or simply indifferent.

But there is an important distinction.

Association is not proof of instruction.

The fact that Boye Nation is associated with Adelabu does not, by itself, establish that Adelabu authorised the movement, financed it or personally endorsed APM’s presidential project. Those are matters that require evidence or a direct statement from the former minister.

And that is precisely where the real political conversation should begin.

Adelabu’s political history has never been short of twists. From his 2019 governorship bid to the 2023 political realignment and his appointment as Minister of Power, his journey has demonstrated the fluid nature of Oyo politics.

Today, however, the political arithmetic appears to be changing again.

The same APC that accommodated him after his 2023 political excursion now has another candidate carrying its governorship flag. Meanwhile, people identified with Adelabu’s political structure are appearing at an APM event expected to have Makinde at its centre.

For APC loyalists, that development may understandably raise questions about loyalty and party discipline.

For Adelabu, it presents an opportunity to clarify his position.

Is he still fully committed to the APC?

Does he support the activities of Boye Nation?

Does he have any connection with the planned APM mobilisation?

Or is Ajiboye Sangogade acting entirely on his own political conviction?

These are not unreasonable questions.

Indeed, they are questions that political actors should answer openly rather than leave the public to fill the gaps with speculation.

One thing, however, is certain: politics in Oyo is entering another season of realignment.

The September 21 gathering at Adamasingba may therefore be more than a concert. Organisers have described it as a youth mobilisation platform and a formal declaration of Boye Nation for the APM. Reports also indicate that the event is expected to receive members of the movement into the party.

That makes it politically significant.

Whether it represents a personal decision by Sangogade, a broader movement by Adelabu’s associates or something more strategic remains to be seen.

But one lesson from politics remains timeless:

When political friendships are tested, silence often creates more questions than answers.

And as the 2027 political season gathers momentum, Oyo’s political actors may soon discover that yesterday’s alliances can become tomorrow’s fault lines.

The masquerade has changed its dance.

Everybody is watching the drummer.