Anthony Obi Ogbo
Watson’s assault case might unravel a test of courtroom litigation competence
After a dramatic mayoral election meltdown, Attorney Tony Buzbee faces another challenge ―this time in a district court
Rusty Hardin, an attorney, is not well-known to me, as my usual interest is in politicians and leaders or perhaps, politics and leadership. However, I do recall a few of his litigation endeavors. For instance, when the former Houston Oilers quarterback, Warren Moon, was acquitted by a Fort Bend County jury of choking and beating his wife. And in 2004, when an NBA Hall of Famer, Calvin Murphy, got off scot-free from charges that he sexually abused five of his ten daughters. Also in 2008, when the wife of the televangelist, Joel Osteen, walked away from a case involving a flight attendant who accused her of assault. As well as in 2012, when former MLB pitching legend, Roger Clemens, faced federal charges of lying to Congress and obstructing justice. Hardin represented Clemens in the Washington D.C. trial where a jury acquitted him of all charges after eight weeks of testimony.
In December 2019, the Houston-based millionaire, Tony Buzbee, was humiliated at the polls, losing his bid to unseat Houston Mayor, Sylvester Turner. He played down his loss, arrogantly defying a customary concession stating, “We didn’t really lose, we just ran out of time.” Today, attorney Buzbee is facing another challenge; a courtroom battle over a high-profile case that he initiated. The problem might not be the case but rather the counsel on the other side, Rusty Hardin.
There were reports over a number of lawsuits filed against Houston Texans quarterback Deshaun Watson, accusing him of sexual or civil assault. The accusation started a media blitz. Tony Buzbee who turned out to be the attorney for the plaintiffs, shuttled between social media and local news outlets to amplify the allegations made by his clients. He packaged his information and released it at intervals to generate suspense—the type that would get the accused’s attention and lure him to the negotiation table.
Tony Buzbee who turned out to be the attorney for the plaintiffs, shuttled between social media and local news outlets to amplify the allegations made by his clients.
As of April 9, a total of 22 civil lawsuits have been filed against Watson and recorded on the Harris County District Clerk’s website accusing him of a range of actions during massage appointments over the past year; from refusing to cover his genitals to forced oral sex. But Watson blatantly denied the allegations in the lawsuits, which did not name any of the women.
Matters rather got interesting after attorney Hardin finally filed an answer on April 19, to the 22 lawsuits filed against Deshaun Watson. Hardin accused all the women suing Watson of lying. “Today we answered the lawsuits filed against our client Deshaun Watson. Therefore, the answer to the question of whether we are saying that all 22 plaintiffs are lying about the allegations of sexual misconduct by Mr. Watson is a resounding yes.”
In the weeks after this allegation, it appeared that Buzbee spent more time on internet newsfeeds than with his clients. Outrageous headlines related to these incidents dominated the news in different composition formats.
Around March 23, Tony Buzbee announced his proposed lawsuits on Instagram, bragging on social media that more sexual assault allegations would follow. Within a week or so, 16 women had already made similar allegations of misconduct in 16 separate lawsuits. At some point, the number of accusers rose to 22.
Buzbee’s media campaign paid off as Watson dominated the local news, more so than COVID-19, generating interest, negative attention, and anxiety, especially among sports fans.
Buzzbee, familiar with a clique of Houston’s local media, built his case around social media, exclusively branding each lawsuit and accusation, aiming to promote a showdown. He organized a press conference on April 6, when one of the 22 women accusing Watson publicly narrated her allegations of sexual assault. But Hardin hit back, revealing that her lawyer had asked for a $100,000 settlement before filing the lawsuit.
Those familiar with Hardin’s litigation pattern would attest to his investigative prowess; the ability to gather every available piece of information to substitute a volatile mixture of myth and innuendo with undiluted facts.
Watson did what most celebrities in his predicament would do; he maintained his composure and opted for a good lawyer who knew the difference between social media conviction and the courtroom litigation route. Attorney Hardin’s first task was to investigate the case. Those familiar with Hardin’s litigation pattern would attest to his investigative prowess; the ability to gather every available piece of information to substitute a volatile mixture of myth and innuendo with undiluted facts.
Interestingly, Buzbee had at the time paraded a bevy of nameless accusers, citing the need to shield their identity as victims. Hardin quickly accused Buzbee of using anonymous allegations to destroy Mr. Watson. He claimed in a statement, that he tried to get Buzbee to identify his clients, but he was asked to file a motion. Hardin did that and obtained a judgment. In two separate hearings on April 9, state court judges agreed with Watson’s legal team, which argued that Watson could not defend himself if his accusers, who all filed their civil lawsuits under the name Jane Doe, were allowed to remain anonymous.
Earlier this month, Watson’s accusers amended their petitions to disclose their names. A new lawsuit was added at the Harris County District Clerk’s office by a freelance makeup artist who detailed two separate incidents that occurred during massage sessions in September and November, when Watson allegedly assaulted and harassed her “by exposing himself, touching her with his penis and groping her”.
Hardin’s response to the individual petition signals what might be the beginning of an imminent contentious courtroom duel. Buzbee appears battle-ready. The former Recon Marine Officer began his legal career as an attorney at Susman Godfrey LLP in Houston, and in 2000, he founded Buzbee Law Firm. He spends more time promoting himself than his practice, and it has paid off. For instance, the New York Times Magazine described him as “One of the most successful trial lawyers in the country.” The New York Times Magazine based their endorsement for Buzbee in his role in the litigation against BP, following the Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill in the Gulf of Mexico.
Hardin remains a household name in the legal community. He is not new to the Harris County Court districts, joining the Houston legal confraternity in 1975 as an assistant district attorney and starting his practice after 15 years. Hardin is familiar with the streets, the intersections, and even the traffic lights within Houston’s downtown, the abode of the civil courthouses. He could close his eyes and identify the courtrooms, seating arrangement, and possibly, the presiding judges.
The jury process could equally leave a shocking outcome because there is no specified way to gauge how the panel will likely view any case.
All indications show that the major focus, in this case, may shift from the allegations to a clash between two legal luminaries. It might boil down to Buzbee’s media crusade versus Hardin’s dogged courtroom litigation aptitude. Buzbee, it appears, invests most of his time promoting his clients’ allegations to draw a favorable public opinion.
However, the unpredictability of court litigation might equally unload surprises. It is a complicated process where the standards of right and wrong are stifled by what one can prove. The jury process could equally leave a shocking outcome because there is no specified way to gauge how the panel will likely view any case. Hardin is already requesting a jury trial.
♦ Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, PhD, is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News
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“Humility is the anchor that keeps greatness from drifting into delusion.“ —Anthony Obi Ogbo
Fame is a dangerous flame. It warms, it dazzles, and if you hold it too close, it burns straight through the layers of judgment that keep a person grounded. In its hottest glow, fame convinces artists that applause is permanent, talent is immunity, and fans are disposable. Arrogance doesn’t erupt overnight—it grows in the quiet corners of unchecked power, in entourages that never challenge, and in audiences that forgive too easily. But the world has a way of reminding every superstar of one brutal truth: no one is too famous to fall.
This season, Burna Boy is learning that lesson in real time. The Grammy-winning giant—hailed globally as the “African Giant”—is now facing one of the most dramatic reputational meltdowns of his career. Five U.S. arena dates on his NSOW Tour have reportedly been cancelled due to poor ticket sales and a fierce wave of fan backlash following his Denver debacle. What was supposed to be another triumphant American tour has spiraled into an expensive public relations disaster.
It all ignited on November 12, 2025, at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado. The show started late. Energy was high. Then Burna Boy spotted a woman in the front row who had fallen asleep. Instead of performing through it, he halted the show, called her out publicly, ordered her partner to “take her home,” and refused to continue until they left. The humiliation would have been bad enough on its own. But later reports revealed she wasn’t drunk or uninterested—she was exhausted, mourning the recent death of her daughter’s father.
The internet demanded empathy. Burna responded with contempt. A sleeping fan, he said, “pisses me the f*** off.” And then the line that detonated the backlash: “I never asked anybody to be my fan.” Those ten words may become the most expensive sentence of his career.
This wasn’t an isolated flare-up. Burna Boy has long danced on the edge of arrogance, and the public has kept receipts. In 2019, he halted a performance in Atlanta to eject a fan who wasn’t dancing—handing the man money and telling him to leave. In Lagos in 2021, a fan who attempted an innocent stage hug was shoved off by security, sparking outrage over excessive force and coldness.
The following year was worse. In 2022, his security team was accused of firing shots in a nightclub after a woman allegedly rejected him, injuring multiple patrons and triggering legal headaches that trailed him for months. Fast-forward to January 2023: at his “Love, Damini” concert in Lagos, he arrived hours late, berated the crowd, and left fans feeling disrespected and insulted.
By 2025, the pattern was undeniable. He kicked a fan offstage during a New Year’s performance. Months later, he brought a Colorado concert to a standstill until an “unengaged” couple was escorted out. The incidents piled up, painting a portrait of an artist increasingly out of touch with the people who made him a global phenomenon.
This latest incident, however, has delivered the sharpest consequence yet: the U.S. market—a notoriously unforgiving arena—has pushed back.
Cancelled shows. Sparse crowds. Boycotts. Refund demands.
For perhaps the first time, an African artist of Burna Boy’s magnitude is experiencing a full-force American-style public accountability storm.
If African entertainers are paying attention, they should treat this moment as a case study in how fame can be mismanaged.
The first lesson: Fan value is sacred. Fans are not props. They are not subjects. They are not inconveniences in an artist’s emotional universe. They are customers, supporters, ambassadors, and—most importantly—the foundation on which every stage, every award, and every paycheck rests.
The second: Empathy is not optional. A superstar who cannot pause long enough to consider that a fan might be grieving, ill, exhausted, or battling something unseen is a superstar who has forgotten the humanity at the core of all art.
The third: Professionalism is currency. Arriving late, publicly shaming fans, halting shows, and weaponizing power in moments of irritation are choices that corrode trust. And once trust is broken, even a global superstar can watch ticket sales collapse in real-time.
Burna Boy is an extraordinary artist—brilliant, groundbreaking, and influential. His musical legacy is secure. But greatness in artistry is not the same as greatness in character. Fame tests the latter far more than it rewards it. And the spotlight, no matter how bright, does not protect anyone from the consequences of their own behavior.Humility is the anchor that keeps greatness from drifting into delusion. Burna Boy’s current storm is a brutal reminder that talent without restraint can become tyranny, and fame without introspection can become a curse. Artists rise because people believe in them, invest in them, and support them. When that respect is abused, loyalty evaporates. The lesson is stark: the higher the pedestal, the harder the fall—and the fall always comes. What matters is not the applause you command, but the humanity you maintain long after the music stops.
♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
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“Buhari’s legacy is not a national treasure—it is a cautionary tale of tyranny cloaked in uniform and democracy.” —Anthony Obi Ogbo
In many cultures, including mine, it’s considered immoral to speak ill of the dead. But tradition should never demand silence in the face of truth, especially when that truth is soaked in blood, broken promises, and the battered dignity of a nation. General Muhammadu Buhari, former military dictator and two-term civilian president of Nigeria, has finally departed this world. He died in London, a city he frequented not as a diplomat or global statesman, but as a medical tourist—fleeing the ruins of a healthcare system he helped wreck with decades of authoritarianism, tribalism, and economic blundering.
Muhammadu Buhari emerged from the rotten womb of Nigeria’s corrupt military order — a regime where brute force outweighed intellect, and the rattle of an AK-47 silenced the rule of law. In this twisted hierarchy, competent officers were buried in clerical backrooms while semi-literate loyalists were handed stars, stripes, and unchecked authority. It was a theater of mediocrity, where promotion favored obedience over merit and ignorance was rewarded with rank. Within this structure of absurdity, Buhari thrived — a man with no verifiable high school certificate, yet elevated above the constitution, above accountability, and tragically, above the very people he was meant to serve. He didn’t just symbolize the decay; he was its product and its champion.
Let’s not sugarcoat his legacy. Buhari was no hero. He was a man whose grip on power twice disfigured Nigeria’s soul — first with military boots from 1983 to 1985, then under the guise of democracy from 2015 to 2023. His government jailed journalists, brutalized citizens, crippled the economy, and widened tribal divisions with unapologetic bias. His infamous Decree No. 2 sanctioned indefinite detentions. His so-called “War Against Indiscipline” terrorized the innocent. His economic policies were textbook disasters.
Buhari governed with the cold logic of a tyrant who believed brute force was a substitute for vision — and silence a substitute for accountability. The Southeast, in particular, bore the brunt of his vengeance-laced leadership. His disdain for the Igbo people was barely concealed, a poisonous remnant of civil war bitterness he never let go. In his death, that venom remains unresolved, unrepentant.
Let the record reflect that many of us do not weep. We remember.
Even more damning is the legacy of hypocrisy. After decades in power and access to untold national wealth, Buhari could not trust the hospitals he left for ordinary Nigerians. He died where he lived his truth — in exile from the very system he swore to fix. That is not irony. That is an indictment.
And now, as scripted eulogies pour in — from paid loyalists, political survivors, and the ever-hypocritical elite — let us not be fooled by the hollow rituals of state burials and national mourning. Let the record reflect that many of us do not weep. We remember.
- We remember the students gunned down.
- The protesters beaten in the streets.
- The journalists silenced.
- The dreams buried beneath military decrees and broken campaign promises.
We remember that Buhari was not simply a failed leader — he was a deliberate one, whose failings were not accidents but strategies.
And so, here lie the cold remains of one of Nigeria’s most divisive and mean-spirited leaders — a man who brutalized the democratic process with the precision of a tyrant and the coldness of a man utterly void of remorse. As Muhammadu Buhari begins his final, silent descent into the earth, one can only imagine him entering eternity still questioning the justice of creation: Why did God make women? Why did He place oil in the Niger Delta and not in Daura? And why, of all things, did He dare to create tribes outside the Fulani?
It is not my job to mourn a dictator. My duty is to chronicle them — how they ruled with iron fists, trampled their people, choked the press, and finally died, not as legends, but as small men stripped of all illusions. Dictators are counterfeit gods, tormenting peaceful nations while their delusions last. But sickness humbles them. Death silences them. And in the end, all their grandstanding collapses like dust in a grave.
As a journalist, I will record Buhari’s death with precision, not reverence. I will report the pomp, the propaganda, and the hollow eulogies that will rain down like cheap perfume on a corpse. I will write the truth, because history must never confuse power with greatness — especially when evil wore both the uniform and the ballot.
Let the living learn. Let the wicked sleep. And let the truth outlive them all.
I will not mourn a man who ruled through fear and died surrounded by foreign doctors while his people die waiting in overcrowded hospital corridors. I will not pretend this is a time for unity or healing. This is a time for reckoning. For too long, Nigeria has recycled tyrants and renamed oppression “leadership.” Buhari’s death should not be a moment of forced reverence but a pause for honest reflection. Let his final chapter be a lesson carved into our collective memory: that power without purpose, and rule without empathy, always ends in disgrace. History should not be kind to tyrants simply because they are no longer breathing. If we are ever to break the chains of corruption and cruelty, we must bury the lies with the bodies — and speak truth, even at the graveside. Let the living learn. Let the wicked sleep. And let the truth outlive them all.
♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D. is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
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Anthony Obi Ogbo
Dunamis Digital Dilemma: Why Shutting Down Virtual Worship May Alienate a New Generation of Believers
“Spirituality is no longer confined to physical sanctuaries” —Anthony Obi Ogbo
The demands of the digital and virtual age, especially in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, are both undeniable and irreversible. The pandemic didn’t merely disrupt norms—it reshaped them. From global commerce to education and religious observance, the shift to digital platforms is now a defining feature of contemporary life. The surge in e-commerce has revolutionized how consumers behave, compelling organizations to reinvent their digital presence through social media, targeted marketing, and immersive experiences like augmented and virtual reality.
Yet, while many institutions have adapted to these realities, some remain entrenched in pre-pandemic mindsets. One recent example is the Dunamis International Gospel Centre in Abuja, Nigeria, under the leadership of Pastor Paul Enenche. The church announced the suspension of its live-streamed services, citing the biblical imperative for believers to gather physically, as referenced in Hebrews 10:25.
While the theological rationale was emphasized, the practical implications—particularly financial—were conspicuously understated. Churches around the world have successfully embraced virtual platforms not just to foster spiritual connection but also to maintain financial stability through online giving systems. In contrast, Dunamis’s move appears to prioritize physical attendance at the expense of accessibility and inclusivity.
In today’s digitally integrated society, suspending virtual worship risks alienating many who have come to rely on these platforms. Individuals with health challenges, mobility issues, or who live far from church facilities depend on livestreams to remain spiritually connected. More importantly, younger generations increasingly seek faith experiences that mirror their digital-first realities—flexible, inclusive, and globally accessible. By disregarding these expectations, churches may unintentionally push away the very audiences they aim to engage.
Pastor Enenche’s decision, while perhaps grounded in spiritual intent, may prove counterproductive in practice. The younger demographic—tech-savvy, mobile, and globally aware—now expects more from institutions of faith. They are turning toward worship centers that treat digital engagement not as an afterthought but as a vital dimension of spiritual life. The hybrid church model—integrating both in-person and online elements—has emerged as a powerful strategy for expanding reach while honoring traditional values. It allows churches to be both rooted and relevant.
The decision to suspend livestreaming church services reflects a deeper tension between tradition and innovation, between preserving ritual and adapting to contemporary realities. Faith institutions today are not just places of worship; they are also cultural anchors navigating an increasingly digital society. Ignoring this evolution risks rendering the church irrelevant to a generation that lives, works, and worships online. Spirituality is no longer confined to physical sanctuaries—it’s present in podcast sermons, Zoom prayer meetings, WhatsApp devotionals, and YouTube gospel concerts.
Virtual engagement is not a dilution of faith; it is an extension of it. It makes the message of hope and redemption accessible across boundaries of geography, ability, and circumstance. The pandemic revealed this, but the future will demand it. Churches that fail to embrace digital tools risk becoming spiritual silos—isolated, inflexible, and out of touch with modern believers.
Leadership in ministry, like leadership in any other sphere, must evolve with the people it seeks to serve. Pastor Enenche and others in similar positions should not view digital transformation as a threat but as an opportunity—an opportunity to reach farther, touch deeper, and uplift more lives. The gospel, after all, is meant for all—and now, more than ever, everywhere.
♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
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