When Legitimacy Is Ignored, the People Respond with Psychological Rebellion

On Thursday, May 2nd, 2025, something deeper than a protest occurred at the EUI Centre in Port Harcourt, Rivers State. It was not merely a political rejection or a civil show of disapproval. It was a collective rupture—an emotional outburst from women who could no longer watch their dignity be paraded, manipulated, and substituted.

Videos shared widely on X by Port Harcourt Socials captured the moment with striking clarity: rows of seated women suddenly rising, turning their backs on the stage, and walking out of a government-sponsored event under the Renewed Hope Initiative. Their chant echoed like a thunderclap across the venue:

“We want SIM!”

“We want SIM!”

It was not just a slogan. It was a demand. A declaration. A correction. A psychological protest.

“Who is that impostor? Ibas’s wife is addressing Rivers’ women. Who is she? Come on, pack your load, Madam, we don’t want you!”

— Woman protester, EUI Centre, May 2, 2025

“We need Mrs. Oluremi Tinubu to come and address us. She is the one we have been waiting for. We don’t need a stranger. We want Sim right now. Sim should come today, not tomorrow.”

— Another protester, outside the venue

These weren’t rehearsed statements. These were spontaneous indictments of a state being governed like a military outpost, where local identity is replaced by federal command, and community voices are drowned by executive overreach.

Theresa Ibas Was Not Rejected for Who She Is, But for What She Represents

Theresa Ibas is not the villain in this story. She is not the architect of the Rivers crisis. But in the minds of the women gathered at that venue, she became the symbol of political intrusion, the face of a federal hand reaching too far into a state that never called for help.

This is a textbook example of symbolic displacement—a psychological condition where people reject not the individual, but what the individual represents. In this case, the women were not rejecting a woman named Theresa; they were rejecting the erasure of their own democratic memory.

Valerie Fubara, wife of the elected and now suspended Governor Siminalayi Fubara, remains the only First Lady the people recognize. No amount of federal logistics or orchestrated programs can substitute the bond between the people and their chosen representative. The Renewed Hope initiative might claim to empower women, but it failed to understand that women are not empowered by presence—they are empowered by recognition.

What Happened to the Culture of Political Restraint—The Sense of Shame?

This is where the larger question emerges:

What happened to the sense of shame in governance?

In a functioning democracy, shame acts as a regulator. It tells those in power when to pause. When to reflect. When not to proceed. When public sentiment clearly rejects a path, shame becomes the moral stop sign.

Yet here we are—after massive protests by the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC), condemnations by the Nigerian Bar Association (NBA), and increasing public outcry against the military-style occupation of Rivers State—and the federal government still proceeds to unveil Theresa Ibas like all is well.

It begs the question: Have Nigerian leaders grown so numb to public sentiment that even collective rejection no longer phases them? Or worse, are they so emboldened by impunity that they no longer care?

This isn’t governance. It’s psychological insult.

To drag out the wife of a federally imposed sole administrator—after discarding the elected governor and installing military-like control—is a level of political gaslighting that would be offensive in any society with a shred of democratic memory.

The Feminist Psychology of This Protest: When Women Say No, They Speak for Generations

Let us not reduce this protest to the actions of “angry women.” That would be not only dismissive but dangerous. These women are society’s stabilizers. Mothers. Grandmothers. Educators. Traders. Professionals. They are the ones who carry the emotional and cultural fabric of their communities.

And when they rise in collective anger, something foundational has been violated.

This event in Port Harcourt is a classic case of intergenerational resistance—a psychological act where the trauma of one political betrayal awakens the memory of others. These women were not just reacting to Theresa Ibas. They were reacting to:

The pain of being treated as voiceless.

The rage of watching democracy mocked.

The insult of being handed a new leader without consent.

And they did not just reject the speaker. They reclaimed the space.

This is what makes the walkout so significant: it was not a protest from outside. It was a revolt from within. They walked out not just of the hall—but out of the illusion that they are powerless.

“We Want Sim” Is More Than a Chant—It Is a Cry for Democratic Legitimacy

Let’s be clear: this protest is not just about political preference. “We Want Sim” is not a campaign slogan. It is a psychological cry for belonging. It is a defense of dignity. It is a reminder to the federal government that legitimacy cannot be forged by fiat.

Siminalayi Fubara, whether suspended or not, represents the last vestige of electoral choice. In a state suffocating under federal appointments and backdoor declarations, he is the psychological anchor of political identity.

To remove him without consent, install a Sole Administrator without consultation, and then parade the administrator’s wife before wounded citizens—is a deep, calculated act of erasure. But these women did not let it happen silently.

They spoke. They chanted. They walked.

They said: “We will not be gaslit.”

They said: “You cannot replace us with strangers.”

This Is the Real ‘Renewed Hope’—Resistance

Ironically, while the event was branded under the “Renewed Hope Initiative,” the only hope that was renewed that day was the hope in citizen resistance.

Because hope is not found in choreographed speeches. Hope is not in policy documents passed without consultation. Hope is in the fire that refuses to die, even when democracy is gagged and replaced with military-styled order.

Hope was in the voices of those women.

Hope was in the footsteps echoing as they left the hall.

Hope was in their insistence that Valerie Fubara remains their voice.

Final Reflection: Nigerians Are Watching, The World Is Watching

This event may seem like a localized protest to some, but it is not. It is a mirror of what is happening across Nigeria:

A people being governed without consent.

Women silenced, then expected to smile and clap.

Cultural memory being scrubbed and replaced with government branding.

Democratic betrayal wrapped in the language of national unity.

But the women of Rivers have issued a warning:

“If you cannot govern with our voice, you will not govern with our silence.”

A Final Message to Power: You Can Install a Stranger, But You Cannot Replace a People

The Psychological Cost of Being Treated as Nothing

In psychology, we call this betrayal trauma—a condition where those trusted to protect us become the source of our harm. And betrayal from government, unlike individual betrayal, affects entire communities.

In this case:

Women were told they had no right to decide who speaks for them.

Lawyers were told that their knowledge of the Constitution is irrelevant.

Citizens were told that their votes could be erased overnight—and replaced with uniforms and commands.

This is not just a political wound—it is a psychological crime.

How do you expect women to believe in empowerment when you dictate who empowers them?

How do you expect lawyers to believe in law when you openly reject the law in front of them?

How do you expect a people to feel like citizens, when every symbol of power tells them they are subjects?

From Resistance to Reckoning: The Birth of a New Political Consciousness

The walkout in Port Harcourt and the legal march in Abuja are not isolated acts. They are the birth pangs of a new consciousness.

These events have proven that:

Power can be challenged, even when surrounded by security.

Dignity can be reclaimed, even when taken for granted.

And most importantly, memory can fight back, even when the system tries to erase it.

This is how democratic resistance begins—not with bullets, but with walkouts, chants, and truths.

Lawyers in Black, Marching in Protest: A Nation’s Legal Conscience Takes to the Streets

Lawyers, dressed in their professional attire, stormed the American Embassy, protesting what they described as an “illegal occupation” of Rivers State. They held banners, submitted a formal petition, and demanded one thing:

The immediate reinstatement of Governor Siminalayi Fubara.

“This is not just a political crisis,” one lawyer declared into a microphone outside the embassy. “This is a constitutional assault on democracy.

Another said, “We are here because the courts have failed us. The rule of law is being mocked. The people’s mandate has been silenced. This is now a national embarrassment.”

That legal professionals—sworn officers of the court—would abandon their chambers to protest at the gates of a foreign embassy speaks volumes. It shows that Nigeria’s internal judicial mechanisms have lost credibility. That the rule of law is not just under threat—it is being trampled by those who should protect it.

Mr. President, let this moment be your mirror.

You forced a Sole Administrator on a people who never asked for one. You let his wife step into the place of a woman chosen by the people’s vote. You watched as the women of Rivers stood, rose, and walked out in defiance. You saw lawyers—men and women dressed in black—march to the gates of the American Embassy, rejecting your imposed order.

And still, you said nothing.

That silence? It screams. And it cuts deep.

This isn’t about politics anymore. It’s about dignity. About whether Nigerians still matter. About whether votes are anything more than shredded paper. About whether women are living, thinking citizens—or just silent chairs to be spoken at by strangers sent from Abuja.

This writer does not know any of the individuals involved; the focus is solely on upholding democracy, truth, and justice.