There are moments in politics when the substance of what is said is overshadowed by the setting in which it is said.
Kashim Shettima and George Akume are not distant actors operating from separate power blocs. They work within the same Presidential Villa. They sit in the same Federal Executive Council meetings. They share proximity to the very engine room of government.
That context matters.
So when guidance that could have been offered across a desk finds its way to a public stage, it inevitably raises a quiet but important question. Why here, and why like this?
This is not about ego. It is about order.
Senator Akume is not a political apprentice. He is a former governor, a 3 time senator, a former minister and now Secretary to the Government of the Federation, an office that anchors the administrative spine of the state. Men who have occupied that corridor of power understand its weight. Publicly directing such an officeholder to pursue reconciliation, as though issuing instruction down a chain of command, unsettles an unspoken hierarchy that governance depends upon.
In societies like ours, hierarchy is not merely ceremonial. It is cultural grammar. The younger approaches the elder. The one seeking resolution takes the first step. The stool of an elder is not carried to the courtyard of a child.
These are not empty proverbs. They are principles of order.
If reconciliation is required between Senator Akume and Governor Hyacinth Alia, then the pathway toward it must reflect both political reality and cultural instinct. Hyacinth Alia occupies a state office. Akume occupies a federal office at the nerve center of national administration. The weight of their respective mandates is not identical. Suggesting publicly that the elder statesman should make the approach inverts a balance many Nigerians instinctively understand.
At that level, public counsel is never just counsel. It becomes commentary. It becomes narrative. It feeds analysis, factional interpretation, and partisan spin. Words spoken into microphones take on lives of their own.
A private conversation, by contrast, protects dignity. It allows candour without spectacle. It preserves relationships while pursuing resolution.
There is also the quiet message this sends to ordinary citizens who are already weary of political spectacle. Many Nigerians no longer measure leadership by speeches but by restraint. When senior officials appear to correct or reposition one another in public, it reinforces a familiar suspicion that politics is theatre first and governance second. Trust is fragile in this country. It does not collapse in dramatic explosions, it erodes in subtle moments that feel unnecessary.
Leadership at the highest level is often defined less by what is said than by how restraint is exercised. The most consequential interventions in government rarely happen at podiums. They happen behind closed doors, where hierarchy is respected and disagreements are managed without an audience.
None of this presumes ill intention. Advice can be offered in good faith and still land poorly because of timing or setting. Statesmanship demands sensitivity to both. When senior officials who share daily access to one another choose the public square over private counsel, the signal it sends extends beyond the immediate issue.
Institutions rely on clarity of structure. Titles are not ornaments. They are markers of responsibility and history. When those markers appear casually rearranged in public, even symbolically, it blurs lines that should remain steady.
And symbolism at that level does not stay at that level. When hierarchy appears negotiable at the top, it trickles downward. Permanent secretaries begin to second-guess ministers. Junior officers learn that public positioning can substitute for private process. Political loyalists weaponize statements that were meant as guidance. What looks like a single public remark can quietly recalibrate internal discipline across the system.
Politics already contains enough theatre. It does not benefit from moments that look performative when they could have been quietly effective.
If reconciliation is necessary, let it happen. Let it be sincere. Let it be pursued with humility. But let it follow a recognisable order. The one seeking restoration takes the step. The younger approaches the elder. The office with lighter institutional weight moves toward the one carrying greater administrative gravity.
That is not about pride. It is about preserving balance.
In the end, this is not a quarrel over personalities. It is a reminder that respect in governance is not a public performance. It is a discipline practiced most carefully when no cameras are present.
Because in governance, once respect becomes performance, authority soon becomes fragile.
Stephanie Shaakaa
08034861434
