Emergency Rule in Rivers: Did the PDP Truly Abandon Fubara or Did He Abandon the Party?

The recent defection of Rivers State Governor, Siminalayi Fubara, from the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) to the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) has reopened deep political wounds and raised uncomfortable questions about loyalty, power, and responsibility in Nigeria’s democracy. While many observers saw Fubara’s move as inevitable after months of political turbulence, his justification for leaving the PDP—that the party “failed to protect him”—has sparked intense debate and deserves closer scrutiny.

At the heart of this controversy is the state of emergency declared in Rivers State on March 18 by President Bola Tinubu. The proclamation led to the suspension of Governor Fubara, his deputy, Ngozi Odu, and all elected members of the Rivers State House of Assembly. It was a rare and far-reaching decision that shook the foundations of federalism and democratic norms in Nigeria. For Fubara to now argue that the PDP abandoned him during this moment appears, to many, to contradict the public record.

Contrary to claims of indifference, the PDP reacted swiftly and firmly to the emergency declaration. The party issued an immediate statement condemning the action as unconstitutional and dangerous. Beyond rhetoric, PDP governors escalated the matter to the courts, challenging the legality of the president’s decision. In a constitutional democracy, litigation remains the most credible and responsible path for opposition parties lacking control of federal power. Resorting to violence or extra-legal tactics was neither feasible nor justifiable.

The PDP Governors’ Forum, under the leadership of Bauchi State Governor Bala Mohammed, was particularly vocal. Mohammed publicly expressed solidarity with Fubara and criticised the suspension, reinforcing the party’s stance. Similarly, the Chairman of the PDP Board of Trustees and former Senate President, Adolphus Wabara, condemned the emergency rule, lending moral and political weight to the opposition’s resistance.

Given these actions, the obvious question emerges: what additional “protection” did Fubara realistically expect? The PDP does not command the armed forces, police, or federal institutions that enforce presidential decisions. It cannot reverse a state of emergency by decree or restore a suspended governor by party fiat. Its tools—public advocacy, legal challenge, and political pressure—were all deployed.

Some defenders of Fubara argue that the PDP’s true failure lay earlier, particularly in its handling of Nyesom Wike, the former Rivers governor and now a powerful figure within the APC-led federal government. They contend that had the PDP expelled Wike decisively, the Rivers crisis might have been avoided. While emotionally appealing, this argument does not withstand legal or political scrutiny. Even if Wike had been expelled, such an internal party action would not have prevented the president from invoking constitutional powers to declare a state of emergency.

What seems more plausible is that Fubara equated “protection” with absolute decisiveness rather than lawful resistance. In a political culture accustomed to forceful interventions, legal processes may appear weak. Yet opposition politics operates within constraints. The PDP, already weakened by internal divisions and electoral losses, could not afford reckless gestures that might further erode its legitimacy.

There is also a striking irony in Fubara’s position. By defecting at the PDP’s weakest moment, he has further undermined the very institution that challenged his suspension in court and defended his mandate publicly. Abandoning a struggling opposition party does not strengthen democratic resistance to executive overreach; it diminishes it.

This contradiction was highlighted by the PDP’s National Publicity Secretary, Ini Ememobong, who revealed that party leaders were willing to intervene more aggressively but were repeatedly restrained by Fubara himself. According to Ememobong, the governor often became unreachable or insisted the party should “not worry” because he would “handle it.” In legal terms, volenti non fit injuria—harm cannot be done to one who consents.

Further compounding the confusion, Fubara reportedly asked PDP leaders not to fight for him during a May 2025 event in Port Harcourt, stating that his “spirit had left Rivers Government House.” Yet he later accused the same party of failing to defend him. Such contradictions weaken the credibility of his grievance.

None of this absolves the PDP of blame for earlier missteps. Its tolerance of internal sabotage and reluctance to confront powerful figures undoubtedly contributed to the crisis. But once emergency rule was imposed, the party acted within the boundaries of law and opposition politics.

If Governor Fubara possesses evidence of collusion, a superior legal strategy, or a constitutional pathway the PDP ignored, Nigerians deserve to hear it. Absent such clarity, claims of abandonment sound less like principled critique and more like displaced frustration.

Ultimately, the Rivers crisis is far from resolved. As Fubara embraces his new political home in the APC, Nigerians will be watching closely to see whether the protection he now seeks will be more effective—or merely another illusion in Nigeria’s complex power game.