Politics has always been a rough game, but there are moments when the line between competition and character assassination becomes dangerously thin. In Cross River State, that line was crossed this week when the state government found itself responding to a press release that accused Governor Bassey Edet Otu of instructing the Paramount Ruler of Calabar South not to receive the governorship candidate of the Peoples Democratic Party. The government did not waste time in pushing back. Through the Commissioner for Information and Orientation, Pastor Ekpenyong Cobham, it demanded an immediate retraction and an unreserved apology from the PDP and its candidate. The commissioner, speaking to journalists in Calabar, described the report as false, malicious, and deliberately designed to tarnish the image of the governor and his administration. His words carried the weight of someone who has had enough. He was not just reading a statement; he was defending a man’s name. And in a state where political reputation can shape everything from public trust to governance, that defense matters. The accusation, if allowed to stand, would not only embarrass the governor but also cast a shadow over the traditional institution, dragging a respected monarch into a political fight he never asked for. That is why the government’s response was so swift and so firm. In a society where elders are still treated with deep reverence, the idea that a governor would use a traditional ruler as a political weapon is deeply offensive. It strikes at the heart of the community’s trust in both its leaders and its institutions. The commissioner made it clear that the government would not allow such a damaging story to simply fade away. It wanted the record set straight, publicly and without hesitation.
The publication in question was credited to Sir Arthur Jarvis Archibong, a factional governorship candidate of the PDP. It alleged that the governor had directed the traditional ruler of Calabar South not to receive the candidate — a serious charge, because in Nigeria’s political culture, traditional rulers are not just ceremonial figures. They are fathers of their communities, custodians of culture, and moral authorities whose blessings are often sought by politicians. Any suggestion that a governor is manipulating a monarch for political reasons is bound to cause outrage. But here is where the story takes an unexpected turn. According to Commissioner Cobham, when Sir Jarvis was confronted about the dangerous publication, he did something that suggests he knew it was not true. He reportedly looked at the phone of the Paramount Ruler and sent an apology, personally, and instructed that the press release be taken down. The commissioner seized on this moment with a simple but powerful logic: if the news was correct, why would there be a need to apologize? Why would there be a need to take it down? The very act of pulling down the story, he argued, speaks for itself. It is a very human thing — when we know we have crossed a line, we try to undo the damage. But in the public eye, the damage is already done. The governor’s name has been dragged through the mud, and an apology buried in a phone conversation is not enough to restore a reputation. The commissioner’s point was not just legal or political; it was deeply personal. He was saying that anyone with a conscience, anyone who understands the danger of misinformation, would know that the only honourable way forward is to retract the story and apologize without conditions. The fact that the apology was made at all, even privately, was proof that the original accusation could not stand.
The government’s deeper suspicion is that the press release was not just a mistake; it was a calculated move. Commissioner Cobham suggested that the allegation was a deliberate spin, designed to create sympathy for the PDP candidate and to give the false impression that vote-canvassing by a few supporters was being directed by the governor ahead of the All Progressives Congress congress. In other words, the opposition was trying to paint the governor as someone who would use his office to interfere in political processes. But the commissioner rejected that narrative outright. He said there is no reason for the Cross River State Government to feel threatened by what he called “sludge funds” — likely a reference to slush funds or questionable political money — that have been remitted out of personal endeavours. He went further, painting a curious picture of people who, for fear of proper empowerment, are suddenly becoming property agents, chasing these funds without any real cause. It was a sharp, almost sarcastic jab at those who seem to be scrambling for money and relevance by any means necessary. The commissioner’s tone suggested that the government sees the opposition as desperate, willing to invent stories to stay in the game. And in that desperation, they chose to drag the governor’s name into the mud. It is not uncommon in Nigerian politics for opponents to manufacture controversies when they sense that their own campaigns are losing steam. But this particular move, according to the government, was especially dangerous because it involved a traditional ruler. By linking the governor to an alleged instruction against receiving a candidate, the story was meant to create the impression that the governor was using his power to humiliate his opponents through the most respected institution in the community. That kind of narrative can spread quickly, especially in a state where people still listen to their monarchs and trust their judgment. The commissioner’s frustration was therefore not just about the lie itself, but about the harm such a lie could do to the social fabric of Calabar South.
Perhaps the most important part of the commissioner’s response was his challenge to the media. He urged investigative journalists to go beyond hearsay and interview the Paramount Ruler of Calabar South directly. That is a significant invitation. If the government were truly hiding something, it would not be asking reporters to speak to the very person at the center of the allegation. The traditional ruler, after all, is the one who would know whether the governor gave such an instruction. By pointing journalists in that direction, the government is essentially saying: go and ask the elder, he will tell you the truth. In a society where traditional institutions still carry immense moral weight, this is a powerful move. The commissioner also revealed that the government has in its possession an apology from Sir Arthur Jarvis and his entire media group, one that supposedly puts the facts straight. If that is true, then the story was not just a rumor — it was a manufactured falsehood that was later admitted to be false. The commissioner called the allegation an absolute insult to the character, name, and personality of the governor. That word “insult” is important. It shows that this is not just about legalities or politics; it is about dignity. In a culture where respect is everything, accusing a governor of using a traditional ruler as a political pawn is a deep affront. It is one thing to disagree with a governor’s policies or to challenge his administration’s performance. It is another thing entirely to invent a story that attacks his personal honor and drags a respected monarch into the mud. The commissioner’s challenge to journalists was also a reminder that the media has a responsibility to verify facts before publishing. In the age of social media, where rumors spread faster than the truth, that responsibility is more important than ever. By inviting reporters to investigate, the government was not just defending itself; it was also calling for a higher standard of journalism.
The government has now given the PDP and its candidate 48 hours to retract the press release and publish a formal, unreserved apology in national dailies. This is not a quiet request; it is a public demand, with a clear deadline. If the deadline passes without action, the Attorney-General of Cross River State may be compelled to institute legal action. That last phrase — “may be compelled” — is interesting. It suggests that the government does not necessarily want to go to court, but it will if pushed. It is the kind of language that gives the other side a chance to do the right thing, while making clear that there will be consequences if they do not. For the governor, this is about more than winning a political argument. It is about clearing his name in the eyes of the public, especially the people of Calabar South who hold their traditional ruler in high esteem. An apology in a phone call is not enough. An apology that is quietly made and then hidden away is not enough. The government wants the same publicity that was given to the false accusation. It wants the retraction to be as loud as the lie. And that is a very human demand. When someone spreads a rumor about you, you want the truth to be told just as loudly, just as widely, and just as clearly. You want people to know that the accusation was false, not just for your own sake, but for the sake of everyone who believed it. The 48-hour ultimatum is also a test of character. Will the PDP and its candidate admit their mistake and apologize? Or will they stubbornly cling to a story that has already been contradicted by their own actions? The government is essentially giving them a chance to do the honourable thing. If they refuse, the legal system will have to decide the matter. But regardless of the outcome, the demand itself sends a message: public figures cannot simply say whatever they want and then walk away when the truth catches up with them.
In the end, this episode is a reminder of how dangerous misinformation can be, especially during election season. Political parties and candidates often feel the pressure to do whatever it takes to gain an advantage, and sometimes that means bending the truth or even inventing stories. But as this case shows, falsehoods have a way of collapsing under their own weight. The moment an apology is made, the lie is exposed. The moment a retraction is ordered, the truth becomes clear. Cross River State, like the rest of Nigeria, is no stranger to political drama. But there is a line between vigorous campaigning and malicious character assassination. The government’s response suggests that line has been crossed. The next 48 hours will be telling. Will the PDP and Sir Arthur Jarvis Archibong retract the story and apologize? Or will they double down and force the government to take legal action? Either way, the message from Calabar is clear: the governor’s reputation is not a playground for political games. And for anyone who values truth, that is a message worth defending. The byline of this report — Nakanda Iyadim and Kingsley Agim — reminds us that journalists are the ones who carry these stories to the public. But the responsibility to verify, to question, and to seek the truth lies with all of us. In a democracy, information is power, but misinformation is poison. The people of Cross River State deserve better than fabricated press releases and desperate political tricks. They deserve leaders who can compete on ideas, not on lies. And they deserve a public discourse where the name of a governor, and the dignity of a traditional ruler, are not sacrificed for cheap political gain.