The Economics Of Loyalty

By Itoro Okon and Enim George

We often speak of poverty as a lack of money. We measure our wealth in federal allocations, hectares of palm and the fluctuating price of crude oil. Yet, in our world today, there is a hidden ledger that determines true prosperity. On that ledger, Akwa Ibom State is running a massive deficit. The currency we lack is not the Naira or the Dollar. It is Trust.
Our people have a proverb that captures the agony of this condition: “Akpede ajen-uka ade ntak nnana’yen afo, idod-enyen afo adeede ke anie?” (On what will you put your confidence, if the source of your misfortune is your relation?).

This ancient question transcends philosophy; it is a matter of economics. It reminds us that when those closest to us become the architects of our downfall, the foundation of the community shatters.
Economists call this the “Trust Tax.” It is the invisible premium we pay for living in a society where a brother’s success is viewed less as a victory for the clan and more as an indictment of our own stagnation. This tax eats into every contract, every appointment and every family legacy. It is the friction that prevents our calculated velocity from becoming exponential.

In the first chronicle, we defined Akem as a demand for a new moral order. Today, we must confront the mechanics of the disorder that sabotages us. We jokingly call it the “PhD” or “Pull Him Down” syndrome. We laugh about it in our private circles. We shrug and say, “That is just how our people are.”

Akem Ndien! It is enough. We must stop laughing. This is no mere cultural quirk. It is an economic catastrophe. It is a form of bureaucratic violence, an organised industry of sabotage that has mutated from the colonial-era petition writer to the modern digital assassin.

We must stop acting as if this darkness is our heritage. This instinct is not in our blood; it was poured into our water. Historians confirm that the “violence of the pen” was weaponised during the Warrant Chief era to divide us. In the 1940s, this moral vacuum birthed the Ekpe Owo (Man-Leopard) crisis, where colonial records confirm 196 lives were taken by men who donned masks to destroy their neighbours. The true terror lay in the anonymity rather than the violence. The killer could be the man who shared your palm wine in the morning.

Today, the leopard skins are gone but the spirit remains. It has traded the leopard skin for the fake social media account. It has traded the metal claw for the poisonous petition. We have become the crabs in the bucket. This is not due to natural wickedness; it is because we have forgotten how to climb.

If you doubt the cost of the Trust Tax, look closer at our economic history. Beyond recent projects, this reveals a generational pattern. Look at the commercial decline of the Qua Iboe River. Centuries ago, this river was a global artery of trade. Today, its commercial relevance is a shadow of its potential. Why? Because while other regions united to demand the dredging and modernisation of their waterways, we allowed ours to silt up. We allowed a natural gateway to become a cul-de-sac because we lacked the united political voice to save it.

Look at the industrial graveyard of the 1980s. Where are the great factories of our past: the battery plants, the ceramic industries, the biscuit factories? While national economic downturns played a role, we must admit that these giants collapsed ultimately because their boardrooms became battlegrounds. Instead of uniting to fight competitors in the global market, management boards fought each other at home. Petitions replaced production plans. We paid for that disunity with the de-industrialisation of our state.

But we have proven that when we refuse to pay this tax, we prosper. We have a lineage of builders to emulate. Consider the cooperative palm produce societies of the 1940s. Long before government subventions, our forefathers across the hinterlands and riverine areas organised themselves to break the monopoly of colonial middlemen. They pooled their produce, stabilised prices and used the profits to build community schools and town halls. They understood the economics of the Pride: if one lion eats, the pride is stronger.

Consider the battle for the payment of the 13% derivation and the abrogation of the onshore-offshore oil dichotomy in the early 2000s. Under the leadership of then Governor Victor Attah, the state faced a formidable federal wall. In an AKEM moment of shared purpose, the Akwa Ibom elite closed ranks. We spoke with one voice: traditional rulers, politicians and the youth. The result? We won. That singular act of elite unity ushered in a revenue explosion that multiplied the state’s fiscal capacity and capital spending, transformed our landscape and built the modern Akwa Ibom.

The economics of loyalty are clear: When we fight for each other, we earn billions. When we fight against each other, we lose billions.

We must distinguish the watchman from the assassin. Loyalty must not be confused with the silence of the cemetery. When a citizen exposes theft, that is accountability. That is the watchman guarding the village gate. But the “PhD” syndrome is the work of the assassin. The watchman speaks truth to save the community; the assassin invents lies to liquidate a rival’s equity. The watchman wants the project to succeed; the assassin prays for it to fail so he can gloat over the ruins.

The current “Arise Agenda” is an invitation to return to the spirit of the derivation struggle. A state that cannot unite its workforce and its elite cannot compete in the brutal Nigerian marketplace. Investors are like antelopes; they flee from predators. If they sense the Akwa Ibom elite are united, they will graze here. If they sense we are at war, they will flee.

‘Akem Ndien’ to the politics of destruction. If you see a brother rising, and your first instinct is to find a stone to throw, check your spirit. That stone will eventually fall on your own roof.

‘Akem Ini” to the economics of loyalty. It is time to rebuild the broken trust. It is time to realise that your neighbour’s success is not your failure. It is your proof of concept. If he can fly, you can fly.

We are the people of the Great Ocean. The ocean does not fight its own tide. It moves as one heavy, undeniable force.

Where in your life have you paid the “Trust Tax”? Have you seen a business or dream die because of the enemy within?
Akem Ndien! Akem Ini!

*_AKEM (Akem Ndien! Akem Ini!) is a values-driven civic and cultural initiative that promotes unity, trust and shared prosperity in Akwa Ibom State._*