History has a curious way of elevating complex men into symbols—sometimes unwillingly, sometimes by design. Chief Asari Dokubo stands firmly within that category in Nigeria’s contemporary political evolution. He is a man whose life and times intersect with agitation, resistance, controversy, and unfiltered expression. Any serious reflection on his public persona must therefore be balanced: respectful of the niches he has carved for himself, yet candid enough to caution against the excesses that now threaten to overshadow whatever historical credit he once earned.
There was a time when your name, Asari, resonated beyond ethnic boundaries. During the Obasanjo era, when the Nigerian state appeared particularly intolerant of dissenting voices, many of us—especially from the South and among the Igbo—felt an organic connection to your situation. I took sides with you then, not because I knew you personally, but because the circumstances surrounding your persecution mirrored the collective struggles many Nigerians, and indeed many Igbos, had endured in earlier decades. At that time, I was at the concluding stage of my university education, already a fully formed adult, aware of the political temperature of the country and capable of making informed judgments about injustice and power.
That solidarity was not isolated. Many Igbos stood by you then, and many continued to stand by you in subsequent years, out of a sense of shared fate within an often hostile Nigerian state. That history of support is neither imagined nor insignificant. It is part of the moral capital that sustained your relevance and protected your image beyond your immediate ethnic constituency.
It is against this background that your present posture gives cause for concern. Your public interventions, particularly on digital platforms, have become increasingly bellicose, marked by rage baiting, sweeping generalizations, and persistent verbal assaults—most especially against the Igbo people. Words, when repeated often enough and amplified by modern algorithms, acquire consequences far beyond their initial intent. Blanket insults, no matter how theatrically delivered, do real damage. They fracture old alliances, poison brotherhoods forged in adversity, and create wounds that may outlive the momentary applause of online spectators.
What is most unsettling is the apparent indifference to these consequences. The tone suggests a man chasing virality rather than legacy, algorithms rather than accountability. Yet, this posture is difficult to reconcile with what I know—or believe—to be your background. I am convinced that you have home training. This conviction is not speculative. At this stage of my life, I have had the opportunity to pursue postgraduate legal studies alongside your younger brother, Goodhead Ibioye, whom I can proudly describe as a fine lawyer, a disciplined mind, and a gentleman in conduct. Such a pedigree does not produce reckless men by accident. It therefore raises serious questions about choice, restraint, and responsibility in your current public conduct.
Of even graver concern are statements attributed to you in recent online videos, where you appear to boast of wealth, properties, and influence, while simultaneously claiming that successive governments employed your services for violent, extra-judicial actions against perceived enemies and agitators. Whether these claims were made in bravado, exaggeration, or calculated provocation, they are profoundly troubling. Language matters, especially when it touches on life, death, and the abuse of state power.
If these claims are untrue, then wisdom—and indeed self-preservation—demands immediate and unequivocal retraction. If they were uttered merely to impress an online audience, then they reflect a dangerous trivialization of grave moral and legal issues. If, however, they are true, then they implicate you in actions that no society governed by law can condone. Violence carried out outside the framework of law, even when politically motivated or state-sponsored, remains unlawful. Money derived from such acts carries consequences—moral, social, and legal—that no amount of public boasting can erase.
In more civilized jurisdictions, such utterances alone would trigger serious investigations. Nigeria may appear slow, indulgent, or compromised, but history teaches us that accountability is often delayed, not denied. Posterity is unforgiving. Records endure. Statements made in moments of arrogance are replayed when tides turn. The law—whether human or natural—has a way of catching up, quietly but decisively.
There is, therefore, no honour in flaunting such narratives, no dignity in parading wealth while tying it, even rhetorically, to the suffering of citizens. Nor is there wisdom in harassing people, insulting entire ethnic groups, or assuming the role of a perpetual provocateur. The performance of a comic ultracrepidarian—one who speaks loudly and confidently beyond the limits of sound judgment—may entertain, but it ultimately diminishes the speaker.
Leadership, even outside formal office, demands discipline. It requires the ability to read the parlour, to smell the roses, to understand when to speak and when silence is more powerful. Politics, like chess, rewards foresight, patience, and restraint. Every move has consequences, and not every audience applause is a victory.
My brother Asari, this reflection is not written in malice, nor in denial of your historical relevance. It is written as a plea from someone who once stood with you, and who still believes that you can choose legacy over noise. If certain statements were made in error, retract them now. If anger has clouded judgment, recalibrate. If the pursuit of relevance has overtaken wisdom, pause and reflect.
History has already given you a chapter. You still have the opportunity to shape how it ends. Posterity will not judge leniently those who had the chance to heal but chose to inflame. With that sober reminder, and with respect for what was and caution for what may yet be, I plead to rest my case.
A Reflective Caution on the Lives and Times of Chief Asari Dokubo By Barrister Aguiyi Joseph Obinna
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