Honourable Chief Joshua Osih Nambangi,
I write to you today not as a politician. I write not as a partisan man, nor as a seeker of influence. I write simply as a son of Ndian who has watched his people bleed, who has seen his region descend into an inexplicable maze of violence, and who, like many, has run out of words to explain the carnage that has haunted our Northwest and Southwest Regions for almost a decade. I write because history sometimes calls a man at the most unexpected moment and transforms him from a regular parliamentarian into a statesman who must rise above the conventions of party lines, professional comfort, or personal safety. I believe your moment, Honourable Osih, may have arrived.
Many have asked me why I choose to address this letter to you and not to any of the prominent politicians of the ruling CPDM Party from Ndian. My answer is simple. If your interest in politics had been purely material, you would have been, without doubt, one of the most economically successful political figures from Ndian. With your intellect, business acumen and organisational clarity, you could have risen through the ranks of the CPDM, accessed the levers of state power, and become a wealthy and influential man. You could have walked the familiar path of transactional politics. But you did not. You remained with the SDF through its storms and its droughts. You stayed with a party whose very survival has depended on conviction. That choice revealed your character long before many came to appreciate its weight.
In you, I see a pedigree reminiscent of our ancient political class. Men and women who entered politics not because it was fashionable or profitable, but because they believed it was a calling. They believed that leadership was noble. They believed that the people deserved a voice. They believed that a nation could be improved by the moral courage of its sons and daughters. They believed in service. They believed in sacrifice. Today, Honourable Osih, those virtues are in short supply, yet the moment we face demands them more than ever before.
The killings in our two regions defy all logic. They defy reason. They defy any analytic lens through which one might attempt to explain conflict. The schizophrenic rhythm of the violence, the unpredictability of the murders, and the sheer brutality of the acts have beaten even the pseudo intellectuals who once fanned the flames of this tragedy. Those who once claimed ideological clarity have been silenced by the senselessness of this carnage. Those who once pretended to offer direction now find themselves overwhelmed by the darkness they helped unleash.
I feel deep sympathy for the politicians of the ruling party from Ndian. Many of them are good men and women caught in a suffocating political structure. I cannot absolve them from responsibility, yet I also recognise the fear and paralysis that come with confronting a conflict whose actors are embedded within the very communities they represent. Even the Minister of Defense once admitted publicly that this crisis cannot be resolved through the blunt instrument of full military deployment because the perpetrators are not an invading army. They are our own youth. They are our children. They hide within our households and our neighbourhoods. They blend into our daily lives.
The question has been raised repeatedly. Why are the identities of captured or neutralised fighters not used to trace the sociological roots of the crisis. The sober answer remains that such revelations could produce long term stigmatisation of entire communities, accusing thousands of innocent and law abiding citizens of complicity based on the crimes of a few. This is the dangerous paradox of an asymmetric conflict. It is embedded. It is intimate. It is a tragedy in the midst of family.
This is why, for years, an all out military offensive has been ruled out. The risk of collateral damage is far too grave. Yet there is consensus among experts, administrators, civil society actors and community elders that only a political process can sufficiently deflate the ideological oxygen that sustains the hard core criminal elements. Once this wind is removed from their sails, they can be isolated, crowded out and finally neutralised through the combined force of community solidarity, political courage and calibrated security operations.
It is here, Honourable Osih, that your calling emerges.
Sometimes a politician believes his destiny will be shaped by parliamentary debates, electoral victories or lofty legislative reforms. But history is rarely so straightforward. Sometimes a politician’s mandate is defined by the moment in which his community is trapped. Sometimes the true test of leadership is not in the speech delivered at the Assembly, but in the courage shown in moments when society unravels. You may not have chosen this moment, but this moment may have chosen you.
The aftermath of the recent election has opened a rare window. The nation is exhausted. The communities are bleeding. Even the most hardened actors know that the conflict has run its course. The pseudo intellectuals have retreated into incoherence. The diaspora firebrands have exhausted their narratives. The local populations are desperate. The youths are trapped. The government is overstretched. The armed forces are drained. The international community is fatigued. The moment is pregnant with possibility.
We need someone who carries moral legitimacy across political divides. We need someone who is neither consumed by the intoxication of incumbency nor blinded by the bitterness of opposition. We need someone whose political journey has been anchored in conviction rather than expediency. Someone with the courage to speak truth to both power and rebellion. Someone whose voice carries the trust of both the common man and the intellectual class. Someone from the Southwest who understands the Northwest. Someone whose patriotism is unquestionable, whose integrity is unmarred, and who can ignite a collective awakening.
That person may very well be you.
Honourable Joshua Osih, this is not a request for political ambition. It is a plea for political purpose. The Northwest and Southwest need a champion of peace. A bridge builder. A reconciler. A statesman.
History will remember the one who finally stemmed the blood. It will remember the one who brought our children back from the abyss. It will remember the one who restored dignity to our communities.
I believe the time has come for you to consider leading this monumental effort. If ever there was a calling greater than the pursuit of high office, it is this one.
Your people need you.
With hope and sincerity,
Dr. Peter N. Mbile
Son of Ndian
18 November 2025