Governor Okpebholo’s home-grown war against crime: A necessary reset?

Following Governor Monday Okpebholo's directive to security agencies, a manhunt was launched. Within twenty-four hours, the victim was rescued.

By Umosor Abraham · Tuesday, June 23, 2026 · 6 min read

By Bugie Okhuemoi

Special Adviser on Media & Publicity to the Edo State Governor, Senator Monday Okpebholo.

Last week Sunday was like a movie. A couple just coming from church made a stop-over at Vegetable Market to buy groceries to prepare lunch. 

Then it happened. A kidnapping. In broad daylight. In the heart of Benin-city.

Another family thrown into panic. Another wave of fear. Another reminder of how criminals and derelicts of society were increasingly trying to assert their dominance over the decent. 

But this story, like many others recently, ended differently.

Following Governor Monday Okpebholo's directive to security agencies, a manhunt was launched. Within twenty-four hours, the victim was rescued. One suspect was arrested. Another was neutralized after an exchange of gunfire. 

For many keen observers, beyond being just another security success story, this was evidence of something they have increasingly begun to notice: a governor who appears determined to fight crime not only with money and equipment, but with practical ideas rooted in the realities of Edo society.

And perhaps that is what makes his approach different.

Governor Okpebholo has supported security agencies with vehicles, logistics, funding, and operational assistance. Those interventions are important. Security agencies cannot function effectively without them.

But the governor seems to understand a truth many of us have long avoided: crime survives not only because criminals exist, but because society often creates an environment where criminals can thrive.

There was a time when communities helped raise children. A time when family names mattered. There was a time when a father would rather endure poverty than enjoy wealth he could not explain.

Somewhere along the way, that changed.

Gradually, we began to celebrate wealth without asking questions. We started measuring success solely by what a person owned, not how it was acquired. Men with questionable sources of income became community heroes. They received chieftaincy titles; occupied front-row seats at events; entire ceremonies paused to recognize them whenever they arrived.

The message was loud, even when nobody spoke it - Money is everything.

Children were listening. Teenagers were watching.

Young people learned that society often cared more about possession than character. They saw respect being accorded to wealth without scrutiny. They saw honour being attached to affluence without accountability.

It should not surprise us, therefore, that many began searching for shortcuts.

Internet fraud became attractive to teenagers. Parents condoned and in some cases, encouraged their children’s indulgence in fraud. Parents celebrated their teenage children buying them cars and building houses. They didn’t care to ask questions. They knew, but failed when it mattered most.

Cultism became fashionable. Kidnapping became lucrative.

The tragedy is that these crimes did not emerge in isolation. They grew from a society that gradually stopped condemning ill-gotten wealth and started admiring it.

Today, many of the same communities that once applauded suspicious riches now find themselves living in fear of the monsters those values helped create.

Governor Okpebholo's response appears to recognize that security cannot be outsourced entirely to the police, military, or other agencies.

The battle must also be fought within homes, neighbourhoods, and communities.

That thinking is reflected in several of the policies his administration has adopted.

One of the most significant steps was the amendment of the anti-kidnapping and anti-cultism laws, with new provisions to do something unusual - to spread responsibility.

Property owners whose buildings are used for kidnapping, cultism, or other violent crimes risk having those properties demolished. As many have been.

Some critics may view this as harsh. Yet the policy has achieved something important.

Parents who previously dismissed warning signs are now paying closer attention. Landlords are asking more questions about prospective tenants. Families are becoming more interested in the activities of children whose conduct they once ignored.

Suddenly, crime is no longer seen as "the government’s problem."

Everyone now has a stake in preventing it.

The whistleblower policy follows the same practical logic.

Under the initiative, anyone who provides information leading to the arrest of kidnappers or the prevention of a kidnapping receives N5 million. Information leading to action against cultism attracts N3 million.

For years, communities often knew where criminals lived. People heard conversations. They noticed suspicious movements. They saw strange visitors arrive at odd hours.

Yet many remained silent.

Now, silence carries an opportunity cost.

The prospect of earning legitimate money while helping protect society has encouraged citizens to become more attentive to criminal activity around them.

The result is a growing partnership between government and ordinary people.

The governor has also actively engaged community leaders, local vigilantes, and hunters in security efforts.

This may appear simple, but it is remarkably practical.

A hunter who knows every path through a forest often possesses intelligence no technology can provide. A village elder can identify unfamiliar faces long before outsiders notice them. Community leaders understand local dynamics in ways distant authorities cannot.

Rather than treating local knowledge as irrelevant, the administration has chosen to harness it.

And the results have become increasingly visible.

Perhaps the most controversial aspect of Governor Okpebholo's approach emerged during his visit to the Edo State Police Command following the rescue operation. Speaking on the proposed special courts for kidnapping cases, he made it clear that convicted kidnappers, who are sentenced to death according to the law, would have their death warrants signed by him. For added weight, he said “I will take you to the ring road roundabout so that the whole Edo people will see you, and I will have no regrets about it”

His words sparked debate.

Some considered them too blunt. Others viewed them as necessary.

Yet, to understand why many residents support such strong rhetoric, one must first understand the level of frustration that insecurity has created.

For years, some families, who were ‘fortunate’, buried loved ones. Those who were not, didn’t find a body to bury. Their loved ones were brutally murdered and left to rot far away in a jungle.

Parents sold properties to pay ransom. Business owners altered travel plans. Communities lived under constant anxiety.

In moments like these, people begin to demand consequences that are visible, certain, and swift.

Older generations often recall a different era. An era when public punishment served as a powerful warning.

Children who witnessed such events carried the memory for life. Families feared the shame associated with criminal conduct. Communities openly distanced themselves from those who brought dishonour upon their names.

Whether one agrees with public executions or not, supporters argue that society has reached a point where deterrence must once again become real and tangible.

Many believe that if the first convicted kidnapper is publicly executed under the law, conversations will immediately begin in homes across Edo State.

Mothers will plead with wayward sons. Fathers will issue ultimatums. Families will intervene earlier. Some may even refuse to shield relatives whose actions threaten to bring disgrace upon the household.

The social message would be unmistakable: crime has consequences.

Edo State did not arrive at this point overnight.

The insecurity confronting the state today is the product of years of moral decline, weakened community accountability, and the gradual normalization of criminal behaviour.

It is therefore unrealistic to expect ordinary solutions to produce extraordinary results.

Governor Okpebholo's strategy appears built around a simple principle: if society played a role in creating the problem, society must also play a role in solving it.

The rescue of kidnapped victims, the disruption of criminal networks, the decline in cult-related activities, and the increasing cooperation between citizens and security agencies suggest that this philosophy is already producing results.

Will every measure be universally accepted, and free from criticism? Certainly not.

But leadership is often tested not when solutions are comfortable, but when they are necessary.

At a time when many Nigerians have become accustomed to governments merely reacting to crime, Governor Okpebholo has chosen to attack both the criminals and the social conditions that empower them.

His methods may be unconventional. His rhetoric may be controversial. His tactics may make some people uncomfortable.

Yet for many Edo residents, comfort is no longer the priority. Safety is.

And if restoring safety requires a fundamental reset of societal values, a renewed culture of accountability, and tougher consequences for those who choose crime, then perhaps these are precisely the kinds of practical and daring measures the moment demands.

Sometimes, before a society can move forward, it must first remember what it once stood for.

Governor Okpebholo's home-grown war against crime may well be the necessary moral reset Edo State needs.

RELATED STORIES

OPINION

Ramat Park Flyover and the Changing Face of Benin City

Ramat Park flyover, built by the Sen. Monday Okpebholo administration, has provided a sense of relief to Edo citizens and commuters, who faced difficulty for years, due to grid lock and congestion.

23 days ago

OPINION

Children's Day: No casualty recorded from Ogbemudia stadium incident - says CMD

Edo Specialist Hospital CMD gives insight on children's day celebration incidence.

26 days ago