BY PATRICK MGBODO
Again, Harrison Gwamnishu finds himself at the centre of national attention. Allegations that the activist diverted ransom money meant to facilitate the release of kidnap victims in Edo State have set social media on fire, drawing Nigerians into yet another heated debate. As with many public scandals, people have quickly taken sides, sometimes with alarming haste.
For me, however, my perception remains deliberately dallied. I am not one to rush to judgment, not even when my personal affinity leans toward the actors in the story. Still, as I scrolled through the endless stream of reactions online, certain socially awkward patterns caught my attention and compelled me to reflect more deeply.
One of the most troubling arguments I encountered came from those defending Harrison because he has done “99 good deeds.” According to them, his past goodwill should immunise him from reproach. To this category of defenders, I must say this: this is precisely the seedbed of corruption. Corruption does not always begin with grand heists or elaborate schemes. Often, it begins with subtle excuses we make for people we admire. We convince ourselves that a person’s previous good deeds should blot out present allegations. Yet, goodness is not a mathematical fraction, and 99 per cent is not enough. Integrity must be whole.
Besides, if the accused in this case were a politician rather than a beloved activist, would we be so restrained in demanding accountability? Would we be this gentle, this patient, and this sympathetic? We both know the answer.
There is also a painful emotional dimension to this. Many people simply cannot stand to see their heroes fall or watch their gods bleed. It is one of the tragedies of our society: the moment we elevate an individual to the status of redeemer, we lose the courage to call them out when they err. We protect them even at the expense of truth. It hurts, sometimes more than the scandal itself, to discover that those we believed incorruptible are, in fact, human and fallible. But acknowledging this reality is not cruelty; it is maturity.
The Harrison saga raises another disturbing issue: reputation. Robert Greene, in his famous 48 Laws of Power, warns that one must guard one’s reputation with vigilance. It is not an abstract principle; it is a lived reality. And the truth is that Harrison has not always managed his reputation with sufficient care. Over the years, he has been enmeshed in one controversy or another: accusations around the Anioma Garri initiative, an alleged attempt to fake his own kidnap, public displays of wealth that many consider inconsistent with his stated means, and now this allegation involving ransom money. When a person’s history is dotted with multiple credibility concerns, it becomes difficult, sometimes unfairly so, to believe their defence. Perception begins to overshadow facts.
Even in this case, Harrison’s own responses have raised questions. Although he initially denied taking any part of the ransom money, other accounts circulating online suggest that he admitted using a portion of it to plant tracking microchips. If this is true, why did he not consult with the victims’ families? His explanation, that he did not want to expose his strategy, may sound reasonable at first, but it crumbles under scrutiny.
Trusting at least one family member or a member of his team would not have sabotaged the operation. On the contrary, it would have protected him and ensured accountability. After all, the so-called “strategy” is not some classified security breakthrough; it is a technique we have seen used countless times by trained operatives—and yes, even in movies.
Another troubling consideration is the safety of the kidnap victims. Removing a significant portion of the ransom, allegedly, whatever the reason may have been, increases the risk of angering the captors. Such an action could have endangered lives, and this possibility alone demands clarity and accountability. These are not issues that can be dismissed with sentiment.
Yet, in all of this, I must also express empathy. I do not wish for these allegations to be true. Harrison has done genuine good in the past, and it would be profoundly disappointing to discover that he exploited a situation as sensitive as a kidnap ransom. The emotional weight of such a revelation would be heavy, not only for his supporters but also for anyone who has ever believed in the possibility of an upright society.
Still, while I join millions in hoping for the truth to prevail and for justice, whichever direction it points, to be done, Nigerians must learn to detach sentiment from wrongdoing. We cannot continue to excuse criminality or questionable conduct simply because a person once inspired us. A pastor does not become incapable of sexual abuse simply by virtue of his title. A banker does not become immune to fraud or ‘’Yahoo’ because of past respectability. A celebrity activist does not automatically become innocent because of his popularity.
If we hope to build a just and orderly society, nobody—absolutely nobody—should be placed above questioning or above the law.
I am not here to declare Harrison guilty or innocent. I am not the judge, nor am I the jury. My stance is simple: I remain an observer, seated quietly in the arena, watching the drama unfold without bias, emotional attachment, or interference. Let the facts emerge. Let the truth breathe. Let justice take its course, whatever it may be.
Until the curtains fall on this episode and another story begins.
