By Rekpene Bassey
Freedom of expression is one of the foundational conditions of a democratic society. Without the liberty to question, criticise and challenge those who exercise public authority, democracy risks becoming a system of obedience rather than consent. But freedom of expression, like every civil liberty, has limits; the rights of one citizen exist alongside the rights, dignity and reputation of others.
The controversy surrounding the arrest and detention of Dennis Odama, a young activist in Cross River State, provides an instructive case study in the difficult intersection between free speech, responsible citizenship, public office, personal dignity and the legitimate authority of the state.
Odama reportedly posted a comment on the Facebook page of the Governor of Cross River State, Senator Bassey Edet Otu, questioning the continued retention of a female official in the Sports Ministry through a crude sexual insinuation.
The statement raised questions about both the limits of legitimate criticism and the appropriate governmental response to offensive or potentially defamatory speech.
These questions should not be conflated. Criticism is not the same as abuse. Citizens have both the democratic right and civic responsibility to scrutinise public institutions, question appointments, demand improved performance and hold elected officials accountable.
A citizen may legitimately argue that the Sports Ministry is ineffective, call for the removal of an underperforming commissioner or urge the Governor to appoint someone more competent. Such criticism, even when severe, falls comfortably within democratic discourse.
The difficulty arises when policy criticism is converted into an unsupported allegation about the private or sexual conduct of public officials. The statement attributed to Odama crossed that boundary by insinuating an improper relationship between the Governor and a female official and suggesting that such a relationship explained her continued appointment.
No evidence has been presented to substantiate the insinuation. That distinction is fundamental. Democratic societies protect robust criticism because public officials exercise public power, but unsubstantiated allegations do not automatically become protected speech merely because the targets are politicians.
Social media has significantly complicated the relationship between citizens and political authority. Traditional media was moderated by editors, publishers and professional standards. Digital platforms have largely removed those intermediaries, enabling an individual with a mobile telephone to publish an allegation that can reach thousands or millions within minutes.
This democratisation of publication is valuable, but it has also created serious vulnerabilities. Cyberstalking, cyberbullying, harassment, threats, impersonation, malicious falsehoods and defamatory publications can inflict real and sometimes irreversible damage upon individuals and institutions.
The law therefore has a legitimate role in establishing boundaries between protected expression and unlawful conduct. The crucial issue, however, is proportionality. The existence of offensive or potentially unlawful speech does not automatically justify every form of governmental intervention.
In a constitutional democracy, the coercive power of the state must itself remain subject to law, due process, necessity and proportionality. Reports that Odama was arrested by detectives of the Nigeria Police Force in Lagos on 11 August 2026 understandably generated concerns about the possible use of state power to intimidate a government critic.
Such concerns should not simply be dismissed. Nigeria’s political history contains sufficient examples of governmental institutions being misused against dissenters to justify vigilance whenever law-enforcement powers intersect with political criticism.
At the same time, an informed assessment must examine the underlying conduct rather than judge the matter solely by the fact of arrest.
The statement attributed to Odama was manifestly offensive, sexually suggestive and potentially injurious to reputation. Depending on the facts and applicable law, questions of harassment, cyberbullying, or defamation may legitimately arise.
Even where an offence may have occurred, however, the response must remain governed by due process. The central principle should be simple: the state must enforce the law without becoming an instrument of political retaliation.
There is also the important question of power asymmetry. The relationship between a governor and an ordinary citizen is inherently unequal. The citizen possesses freedom of expression, while the Governor possesses institutional authority backed by public administration, law-enforcement agencies and the symbolic authority of the state.
This asymmetry imposes a corresponding ethical obligation upon public officials. The greater the power possessed by an institution or office-holder, the greater the obligation to exercise that power with restraint. This is not an argument for impunity but for proportionality, institutional maturity and statesmanship.
Public officials remain entitled to legal protection against genuine threats, defamatory allegations and criminal conduct. Yet a governor who responds to every insult through the machinery of government risks transforming a personal disagreement into a contest between an ordinary citizen and the entire apparatus of the state.
There is also a paradox of punishment. Attempts to suppress an offensive message may unintentionally give it greater publicity. A crude Facebook comment might otherwise disappear quickly within the constantly moving stream of online communication, but an arrest can radically change the narrative.
The accused may suddenly become a symbol, while the original insult becomes secondary to questions about whether state power has been abused. Public sympathy may shift towards the accused precisely because of the perceived imbalance between the citizen and government.
This is not an argument against legitimate law enforcement. It is an argument for strategic restraint. The government must consider not merely whether it has legal authority to act, but whether exercising that authority in a particular circumstance truly advances the public interest.
Political leadership has historically required an unusual capacity to endure criticism. General Sani Abacha endured severe public condemnation; President Goodluck Jonathan faced sustained personal and political attacks; and President Bola Ahmed Tinubu has operated within an intensely adversarial political environment.
Internationally, Barack Obama faced relentless vilification from sections of the American public, while Donald Trump has endured extraordinary volumes of ridicule, hostility and personal criticism.
The lesson is not that leaders must tolerate criminal conduct, but that public office inevitably exposes its occupants to opposition, hostility, ridicule and sometimes profound unfairness.
The Stoic tradition offers a useful framework: Epictetus distinguished between things within human control and those outside it, while Marcus Aurelius emphasised discipline and composure in the face of provocation. A leader who allows every insult to determine his response surrenders part of his autonomy to the person who insulted him.
Roman jurisprudence offers another enduring lesson: Qui sentit commodum, sentire debet et onus — he who enjoys the benefit must also bear the burden. Public office brings authority, influence, recognition and institutional protection, but it also brings scrutiny, criticism, opposition, ridicule and sometimes insult. Those who seek public office, therefore, accept a higher threshold of public scrutiny than ordinary citizens do.
This does not mean surrendering dignity or legal rights; rather, invoking the coercive machinery of the state should be approached with particular caution when the underlying conduct is principally political expression.
Citizens, however, have corresponding responsibilities. Freedom of expression is not synonymous with freedom from responsibility. Democracy cannot flourish where criticism becomes indistinguishable from character assassination.
The statement attributed to Odama failed this test: a legitimate question about the Sports Ministry’s performance was obscured by vulgar sexual insinuation. Whatever substantive criticism may have existed was thereby weakened by the manner in which it was expressed.
The most constructive path forward should combine accountability with restraint. Odama should tender an unequivocal written apology to Governor Otu and, more importantly, to the female public official whose reputation was implicated.
The apology should withdraw the insinuation and acknowledge the impropriety of the language. The Governor, in turn, would demonstrate statesmanship by accepting a sincere apology and considering whether further punitive action serves any compelling public interest.
Ultimately, the Dennis Odama affair is larger than a dispute between one citizen and a governor. It asks whether Nigerians can criticise government without fear, whether leaders can tolerate criticism without treating every insult as a threat, whether law-enforcement institutions can distinguish genuine criminality from political annoyance, and whether citizens can exercise freedom responsibly.
A mature democracy requires freedom protected by responsibility, law enforced impartially and power exercised with restraint.
The Governor has a duty to tolerate criticism; the citizen has a duty to criticise responsibly; the police must enforce the law impartially; and the courts must determine guilt through evidence and due process. Free speech must remain free, but freedom without responsibility becomes licence, while power without restraint can become oppression.
Democracy therefore requires citizens courageous enough to speak, leaders secure enough to listen, institutions disciplined enough to act lawfully, and a political culture mature enough to understand that not every insult deserves an answer.
*Bassey is the President of the African Council on Narcotics and a Security Specialist
