Makinde’s “Wẹtị ẹ” remark risks reigniting Southwest’s violent past, By Steve Otaloro

There are ghosts that should never be summoned. There are words that, once spoken from the seat of power, carry the weight of petrol tossed on old embers.

Last week, Oyo State Governor Seyi Makinde reportedly reminded Nigerians that “they should know that Operation Wẹtị ẹ started from here,” a direct reference to his state. With one sentence, he dragged the Southwest back to 1965 — to burning houses, to charred bodies, to a region the world came to call the “Wild, Wild West.”

This must be condemned, not for politics, but for memory. Because we remember what “Wẹtị ẹ” did. And we remember what it cost.

*How “Wẹtị ẹ” Burned the First Republic to Ashes*

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“Wẹtị ẹ” literally means “wet him” — douse him with petrol and set him alight. It was not metaphor. In 1965, it became policy on the streets of Western Nigeria.

The cause was political, but the fuel was careless leadership. The 1964 Federal Elections and the 1965 Western Region Elections were widely rejected as rigged. Chief S.L. Akintola’s NNDP, backed by the federal government, claimed victory over Chief Obafemi Awolowo’s AG/UPGA. The people believed their mandate stolen.

Then the leaders talked. They taunted. They dared opponents to “do their worst.” They told crowds that resistance should be met with fire. And the streets listened.

From Ibadan to Akure, from Ogbomoso to Ilesa, party thugs and angry citizens turned on each other. Ballot boxes became bonfires. Homes of politicians and traditional rulers were set ablaze with families inside. Opponents were hunted and “wet” in broad daylight. Schools closed. Markets emptied. The Western Region descended into anarchy.

The violence was so widespread, so savage, that foreign press dubbed it the “Wild, Wild West.” By January 1966, the Prime Minister, Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, declared a state of emergency. Before the ink dried, the military struck. The First Republic collapsed on January 15, 1966. The coup, the counter-coup, and eventually the Civil War followed.

All of it traces back to a ballot, a rigged count, and leaders who thought words were cheap.

*Why Makinde’s Comment Reopens Old Wounds*

Governor Makinde is not a local council aspirant. He is the Chief Security Officer of the very state where “Wẹtị ẹ” was born. When he says “it started from here,” he is not giving a history lecture. In Nigeria’s volatile political climate, that line is read as a threat, a dare, a proud claim to a legacy of arson.

The Southwest has worked 58 years to bury that legacy. We built commerce, education, and peace on the ashes of 1965. We told our children “never again.” To now hear the Governor of Oyo State casually invoke “Wẹtị ẹ” is to watch an elder play with matches in a dry harmattan.

Was it a joke? If so, it is one only the bereaved do not find funny. Was it a warning? Then to whom, and to what end? Because the only thing “Wẹtị ẹ” ever settled was how fast a region could destroy itself.

*Words Are Not Just Words When You Hold Power*

The lesson of 1965 is brutal in its clarity: the violence did not start with the first match. It started with the first speech that told people fire was an option. Leaders don’t need to hold the petrol themselves. Their words hand out the jerrycans.

Oyo State does not need to remind Nigeria where “Wẹtị ẹ” started. Nigeria needs Oyo to show where “Wẹtị ẹ” ended. It ended in coups. It ended in war. It ended in graves.

*Let Leaders Bind, Not Burn*

A nation is held together by two things: law and language. When law fails, language must hold the line. When language fails, nothing holds.

History has no sentiment. It does not care that you meant well, or that you were “quoted out of context.” It only records what was said, and what burned after. The First Republic did not collapse because of ideology alone. It collapsed because elected men believed their tongues were beyond consequence.

So we ask, not just of Governor Makinde, but of every elected official from ward to Aso Rock: What will your words build? Will your sentence be a bridge, or a bonfire?

A region once called “Wild, Wild West” should have no governor who speaks like a sheriff in a burning town. Let the only thing you start from Oyo be unity. Let the only fire you invoke be the one that forges, not the one that consumes.

For if the polity breaks again, the people will not remember your policies. They will remember your words. And they will remember who struck the first match.