Edo protest: Okpebholo slams palace attack, vows crackdown

By: Abudu Olalekan

Chaos erupts in Ekpoma as protesters turn violent, vandalizing the Onojie’s palace. Gov. Okpebholo vows justice—”Nobody will be spared.”

So yeah. Things got messy in Ekpoma. Real messy.

What started as a peaceful march—people just fed up, honestly, with the constant kidnappings, the fear, the sleepless nights—somehow twisted into something ugly. Saturday morning. Livestock market. Traders scattered. Goats dead on the ground. Cows limping, bleeding. And then… they turned toward the palace. The Onojie’s palace.

Yeah. That palace.

Governor Monday Okpebholo showed up Monday, face tight, jaw set. Not the usual photo-op smile. He walked through the wreckage—shattered windows, splintered doors, chairs snapped in half like matchsticks. Even cartons of Indomie noodles—stacked neatly for the Onojie’s wife’s small business—ripped open, trampled into the dust. A canopy? Gone. Cars in the compound? Smashed windshields, dented hoods. You could feel the disrespect in the air. Thick. Heavy.

He didn’t mince words. “No justification,” he said, voice low but sharp. “None. You don’t storm a monarch’s home—any traditional institution—just ‘cause you’re angry. That’s not protest. That’s criminality wearing a mask.”

Funny thing is… the protest was about security. About fear. And then they made everyone even more afraid. Irony, huh? Bitter kind.

Okpebholo stood there, flanked by cops, APC bigwigs—even retired General Esekhaigbe—and promised: We’re coming for them. Not the peaceful ones. Not the mothers holding placards, the youths chanting for safety. The others. The ones who slipped in, high on who-knows-what (the Onojie himself said many looked drugged, eyes wild, movements jerky), who saw chaos and thought, Hey—opportunity.

“They hid behind ‘grievance,’” the governor said, shaking his head. “Then looted. Then vandalised. That’s not activism. That’s thuggery. Plain and simple.”

And get this—he’s from here. Esan land. Ekpoma gave him his biggest votes. So when he says, “I won’t allow bad things to happen in this land,” it’s not just political talk. Sounds personal. Feels personal.

He dropped details, too—quietly, but firmly. Security ops already rolling. Tech-driven. Focused right now on Edo Central. Remember those nine people rescued in Etsako West? Unhurt. Kidnappers in cuffs. That was them. His team. And now? Ekpoma’s turn. “We leave no stone unturned,” he said. Not a threat. A promise.

The Onojie, Zaiki Anthony Abumere II, looked exhausted. Said he tried to speak to the crowd early on—calm them, listen—but they wouldn’t let him. Then, while he was at a security meeting (yes, that meeting), they came back. Broke in. Smashed. Looted. “If not for God…” he trailed off. Didn’t need to finish.

Okpebholo didn’t just offer condolences. He offered action. Immediate. Visible. “Our actions will speak,” he said. “Soon.”

Look—protests matter. Voices should be heard. But when anger curdles into violence? When sacred spaces get trampled? That’s not change. That’s surrender—to the worst impulses.

Reportersroom heard it straight: the governor’s patience? Thin. His resolve? Steel. And those who thought they could hide behind a crowd, behind a cause, behind smoke and noise?

They picked the wrong palace.

They picked the wrong governor.

And yeah—justice isn’t coming.

It’s already on the road.