Dear Duke of Shomolu,

I read your piece, not just with eyes, but with a heart heavy with the weight of what it truly means to lead in these times—and what it means to be led.
The scene you described—a man in his own land, bowing with grace, hand outstretched in loyalty, and being publicly ignored—was not just a political moment. It was a human one. It pierced through the optics, through the headlines, and settled in that quiet place where dignity resides.
It was painful to watch. Painful not because one politician may have lost favor with another, but because it stripped away the decorum and mutual respect that should define governance, no matter the underlying tension. The Governor of Lagos, however he got there, represents over 20 million souls. To be publicly diminished in such a fashion wasn’t just a slight against a man—it was a message, intentional or not, about how power is wielded in our system.
You are right: Sanwo-Olu is not a fighter in the mold of Fayose or Wike. But isn’t there also strength in composure? In restraint? In a quiet but resolute refusal to be broken?
Yes, he is not perfect. None of them are. But the deeper tragedy is that a man serving, leading, and representing the economic and cultural nerve center of this nation is left dancing on a tightrope between loyalty and survival, his every move scrutinized, his silence mistaken for weakness, his humility seemingly punished.
Let’s not be fooled—this isn’t just about politics. It’s about culture. It’s about how we’ve allowed power to become a throne to be worshipped rather than a trust to be honored. It’s about how we’ve romanticized godfatherism and normalized humiliation. And it’s about how easily we forget that those who lead, too, bleed.
The tragedy is not that the President may have snubbed him. The tragedy is that a nation watched it happen and instantly knew what it meant. That speaks volumes about our understanding of how things work behind the curtain. That moment wasn’t surprising—it was confirming.
So what should Sanwo-Olu do?
Maybe what you suggested: a little resistance, a little diplomacy. Enough to show he’s not spineless, but not so much that he becomes reckless. Enough to remind Baba that loyalty does not equal servitude. And enough to remind us all that respect is not something to be begged for—it should be mutual, even among kings.
But beyond all this, we must fix the system that allows one man’s mood to dictate the career, legacy, or fate of another elected official. Until then, we will continue to live in a democracy in name only—where governors bow not to the people, but to power brokers behind the curtain.
So yes, I feel for Sanwo-Olu. Not because he is a saint, or a villain, but because he is a man navigating a system that doesn’t allow for dignity once favor is lost. And in that sense, any of us—civil servants, appointees, or citizens—could be him.
Thank you for writing what many have felt but few have said.
And no, Duke—you need not worry. No one will beat you.
Because this time, you spoke for many.

Warm regards,
A Fellow Watcher of the Times

Concerned Lagosian