There is a quiet kind of betrayal. The one that comes not with noise or destruction, but with silence.
That is where we are today in Isowopo.
This LCDA was not a gift from government, nor a political reward wrapped in ribbons. It was the result of blood, breath, and backbreaking advocacy. Our fathers fought for it with open hearts and empty pockets. Some of them left this world with no reward but the hope that their children would one day govern themselves.
One of those great men was Pa Olaiya Oni, a name that should be etched in gold on the pillars of this LCDA. Long before the LCDA was approved, Pa Olaiya gave us his house to begin the struggle. That house became the heartbeat of our dream. It was a symbol that Isowopo would no longer remain under the hegemony of Ikare. It was a liberation movement, a declaration of identity.
Today, Pa Olaiya is no more. But his ghost is restless, not because of the battle we fought, but because of the betrayal we now endure.
This LCDA was birthed as a hope, a beacon for the forgotten people of Isowopo. It was designed to bridge the gap between us and the distant governments of Akoko North-East. When we received our LCDA, the first person to mount that seat was Hon. Abiye. Though her time was short, the intention was loud. In barely a month, she opened doors of possibilities. Her steps were firm, her plans documented, and her presence was felt.
Engineers had already assessed boreholes in Auga.
Vigilante uniforms were being prepared to launch local security architecture.
A training centre for artisans was under renovation.
Schools and hospitals had been visited for direct empowerment through community workers.
Proposals were drafted to reach out to Kogi, Ekiti, and Edo State governments for inter-border cooperation on security and economic growth.
Electricity was restored to Ise Akoko after six long years, and Auga’s light restoration was already underway.
This was no ordinary tenure. It was a beginning, a statement of readiness. But we are not here to speak of her today.
This is not a tribute to the past. This is an indictment of the present.
The issue is not that the current administration abandoned those plans.
We are not even expecting them to continue what they met.
We are simply asking: what have they done of their own?
Since they assumed power, there has been a thick fog of silence. Not the silence of strategic planning. Not the silence of silent work. But the silence of absence. No communication. No engagement. No trace of initiative.
This is not leadership. It is mere occupancy.
Power without action is as useless as a well without water.
And this seat was not created so someone could sit and sleep on it.
Isowopo is now gripped by unanswered questions:
Where are the new plans?
What has been initiated?
What have you done with over a year in power?
When those in power become mute after the noise of campaigning, something is deeply wrong. We begin to suspect that the hunger for power was never about service, but about access. Never about the people, but about position.
Our boreholes are dry.
Security is weak.
The LCDA secretariat has become a silent monument instead of a fountain of policy.
The community is still waiting, but waiting for what?
Leadership is not about having a seat, it is about creating change.
If the former administration had a plan in three weeks, and this current administration has nothing in a year, what then are we to believe?
We warned against politicizing this sacred mandate. We pleaded that the people’s interest should outweigh political calculations. But we were ignored. And now, the people are left with a government they cannot feel, a leadership they cannot see, and a silence they cannot explain.
This is not anger. It is accountability.
This is not rebellion. It is remembrance.
This is not disrespect. It is a demand for responsibility.
Our kings have tried.
Our youths have engaged.
Our communities have prayed.
But we cannot continue in this hollow void of “nothingness.”
The past was not perfect, but it was active. The present is not just inactive, it is invisible.
And to those who now sit in office, we say: either rise to the moment or admit that you were never prepared.
The spirits of our ancestors, the dreams of our founding fathers, and the hopes of our unborn children are all waiting for answers.
Even Pa Olaiya Oni, wherever he now rests, is asking from beyond the grave:
What have you done?
What are you doing?
Why are you so silent?
And most importantly, why did you take this office if you had no plan to serve?
Power is not possession. Power is a burden. And to fail that burden is to insult the memory of everyone who died hoping for a better Isowopo.
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