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Every plant carries a memory of how to survive. Through medicine, it teaches bodies how to heal. Through food, it teaches societies how to endure. Through fragrance, it teaches souls how to feel.
This is not coincidence. It is the logic of life itself; each species supporting others in a web of exchange.
Plants do not speak our languages. Yet they have fed our children, cured our illnesses, perfumed our prayers, and softened our grief. They have done so for thousands of years, patiently storing sunlight and wisdom, waiting for us to listen.
To recognise the duty of plants is to recognise our dependence. To honour that duty is to honour life itself.
In every leaf, there is history. In every root, resilience. In every flower, a message.
And in every green thing, a quiet promise:
As long as you care for me, I will care for you. - Ukatta Oganvo (1871 - 1974) - The Covenant of Living Things.
A Temper Tantrum in Place of Statecraft.
Donald Trump’s response to the Supreme Court’s ruling against his tariff regime was, in its way, reassuring. It confirmed that even after years of political upheaval, America’s institutions can still provoke in him the same reflexive mixture of grievance, exaggeration and disdain for constraint. Where others might have offered a sober reassessment of policy, Mr Trump offered a tantrum.
The Court’s judgment was neither radical nor obscure. It merely reaffirmed a foundational principle: that trade policy, like all major exercises of state power, must rest on lawful authority. Congress, not the executive’s whims, sets the framework. Mr Trump’s tariffs, levied through creative reinterpretations of emergency powers, strained that framework until it finally snapped.
In any mature democracy, such a ruling would be treated as an invitation to recalibrate. In Mr Trump’s political universe, it was instead recast as sabotage.
His speech portrayed the decision as an act of betrayal by “globalist” judges, an assault on “American strength”, and a gift to foreign rivals. This familiar script reduces complex institutional checks into melodrama. Courts become enemies, laws become obstacles, and accountability becomes persecution.
What was notably absent was any engagement with the substance of the ruling. Mr Trump did not explain why Congress should be bypassed. He did not defend the legal reasoning behind his approach, nor did he acknowledge that unpredictability in trade policy harms precisely the manufacturers and consumers he claims to champion. Law, in his telling, exists only when it flatters his preferences.
This attitude is not merely boorish, it is, worse still, corrosive.
Tariffs are taxes, paid largely by domestic firms and households. Under Mr Trump, they were imposed erratically, often announced by tweet, suspended after lobbying, reinstated after sulks, and modified without warning. The result was not strategic leverage but economic noise. Investment stalled, supply chains warped, allies were alienated, and rivals adapted.
The Court’s intervention was therefore less a rebuke of nationalism than of improvisation. It reminded the executive that power is not personal property. Mr Trump’s reaction suggested he regards it as precisely that.
His rhetoric also betrayed a deeper insecurity. Leaders confident in their case welcome judicial scrutiny; it strengthens their legitimacy. Those who fear it resort to conspiracy. Mr Trump’s insistence that the ruling was “rigged” or “political” revealed not indignation at injustice but discomfort with limits.
This is a pattern. When he loses elections, they are “stolen”. When regulators intervene, they are “weaponised”. When courts rule against him, they are “corrupt”. Reality, in this worldview, is always at fault.
Yet America’s constitutional system was designed precisely to withstand such self-serving interpretations. Its genius lies not in producing perfect leaders but in constraining imperfect ones. The tariff ruling was an example of that machinery working as intended.
What makes Mr Trump’s response troubling is not its tone, brusque language is his political dialect, but its implications. By framing lawful judgment as treachery, he encourages his supporters to distrust the very institutions that safeguard their interests. He turns disagreement into disloyalty and treats restraint as weakness.
The irony is that this posture weakens the country he claims to defend.
America’s economic power rests not on arbitrary tariffs but on credible rules, stable governance and predictable enforcement. Investors trust it because contracts are honoured and courts are independent. Allies cooperate with it because commitments endure beyond electoral cycles. Mr Trump’s contempt for these virtues chips away at them.
His speech was therefore less a defence of sovereignty than a confession of impatience with democracy.
Statesmanship requires accepting that not every desire can be enacted, that not every impulse is wise, and that authority must be justified rather than assumed. Mr Trump has never shown much appetite for such discipline. Faced with judicial correction, he chose performance over prudence.
The Court reminded him that America is governed by laws. He replied as though it were governed by applause.
That difference is not cosmetic, it is the difference between a republic and a reality show.
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A Response to Arc. Nya-Etok Ezekiel’s “Public Statement”.
My cerebral and well respected brother, Arc. Nya-Etok Ezekiel’s public statement presents itself as a manifesto of conscience, reason, and principled leadership. It is written in the language of conviction, Scripture, and civic responsibility. Yet, beneath this polished rhetoric lies a troubling contradiction; the widening gap between what is proclaimed and what is practised.
Arc. Ezekiel describes his appointment under Bola Ahmed Tinubu as a “call to national service.” Yet barely two years into that service, he has transformed his public office into a political platform for endorsements.
If public office is truly a trust, it should not become a springboard for partisan mobilisation. The moment a serving Executive Director of the state uses his institutional stature to organise political endorsements, neutrality collapses. What is presented as “service” begins to resemble political investment.
Public trust is not preserved by speeches about integrity, it is preserved by restraint.
We are told that Arc. Ezekiel did not join the APC immediately because he “lives by conviction.” This narrative invites skepticism.
If conviction was truly the guiding force, why did it align perfectly with career security and political advantage? For clarity, he was appointed by an APC government, remains in office, observes quietly and once fully embedded, he declares loyalty.
This is not moral discernment, it looks more like political calibration.
Conviction that matures only after one is safely positioned is not courage. It is caution, dressed up as principle.
Quoting 1 Peter 3:15 gives the impression of moral grounding. But Scripture is not validated by citation; it is validated by conduct.
When public officials invoke faith while endorsing political actors whose records are burdened by controversy, governance failures, and ethical questions, faith becomes a rhetorical shield rather than a moral compass.
Spiritual language should illuminate truth, not obscure uncomfortable realities.
Arc. Ezekiel promises “data-driven, performance-based” endorsements for Bola Ahmed Tinubu, Umo Eno and Godswill Akpabio
This raises a fundamental question; what data, benchmarks, independent audits and citizen-led evaluations?
Nigeria today faces deepening poverty, currency instability, youth unemployment, worsening insecurity, millions of out of school children and institutional distrust
Any “performance-based” endorsement that does not seriously confront these realities is not evidence-driven. It is selective storytelling.
Reason is not demonstrated by PowerPoint slides, it is demonstrated by confronting failure honestly.
The proposed town hall is strictly by invitation, with “selected” delegates. This is not participatory democracy, it is controlled consensus.
When political dialogue is filtered through handpicked audiences, dissent is managed, not respected. Questions are curated and approval is pre-arranged.
A truly cerebral engagement is open, uncomfortable, and unpredictable. Anything else is political theatre wearing academic robes.
Arc. Ezekiel rejects “jamboree politics” and promises substance. Yet, his statement contains almost no concrete policy critique, no sectoral analysis, no measurable failures, no reform scorecards.
We hear about vision, alignment, philosophy, stability and capacity but nothing about budget performance, housing delivery outcomes, anti-corruption records, procurement transparency and social welfare indicators.
Without this, “issue-based politics” just becomes branding, not practice.
The most troubling aspect of this statement is not party-switching. In mature democracies, political realignment is normal. The problem is this; my brother was once perceived as independent, and now speaks entirely in establishment language.
Every phrase fits comfortably within the ruling party’s narrative, every doubt has disappeared and every tension has been resolved, conveniently.
This is not the evolution of thought, it is the domestication of dissent.
Arc. Ezekiel says he speaks for “his people.” Yet, there is no evidence that ordinary citizens in Ikot Ekpene or Akwa Ibom have mandated these endorsements.
Representation requires listening before speaking. Endorsement requires only proximity to power.
One builds democracy, tThe other consolidates hierarchy.
In conclusion, I concede that his statement is eloquent, carefully structured, intellectually styled and spiritually framed.
But it avoids the central moral question; how does one reconcile “integrity” with unquestioning alignment to a system many Nigerians experience as unjust, extractive, and unaccountable?
How does one claim “courage of conviction” while standing safely within the corridors of power?
How does one preach “accountability” without confronting failure?
Arc. Ezekiel’s statement is not evidence of political maturity, it simply shows political accommodation.
It reflects a familiar Nigerian tragedy; bright, thoughtful individuals who begin with ideals and end with justifications.
History will not judge leaders by how beautifully they defended power, it will judge them by whether they challenged it when it mattered.
And on that test, this statement falls painfully short.