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Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Our Biggest Problem Cannot be Solved by Restructuring by Femi Owolade

The Chinese Communist Revolution, which aimed to liberate the Chinese majority from the oppressive bourgeoisie, took place between 1945 and 1950. Having spearheaded the revolution, the founding father of modern China- Mao ZeDong was worried that the revolution did no more than replace old elites with new ones; that the pre-revolution bourgeoisie elements were gradually infiltrating the government & society at large- aiming to restore capitalism; and that only a revolution of culture would unseat and unsettle the ruling class and keep China in a state of perpetual revolution which, theoretically, would serve the interests of the majority, rather than a tiny privileged elite. As a result, Mao launched the cultural revolution in 1966. As opposed to the initial 1945-50 revolution which merely kept the Chinese bourgeoisie at bay for a period (1950-66), the cultural revolution was effectively gradual, planting the seeds required to disenable the imminent return of the bourgeoisie. Occupying a center stage in this cultural revolution, theatre was used as a political weapon for spreading communist ideas beneficial to the majority.
During the Cultural Revolution, the government elected an expert to take control of the theatre stage, and introduce revolutionary model operas. While traditional operas were banned, as they were considered feudalistic and bourgeoisie-friendly, the newly introduced revolutionary operas were actively promoted, to achieve revolutionary ends. Since then, the Chinese Cultural Revolution is said to have consolidated the changes wrought by the initial 1945-50 revolution and cleansed China from outdated traditions (in arts and other cultural fields) which favored the bourgeoisie, in a ‘modernist transformation’ that laid the foundation for future economic reforms. These reforms would catapult China into a 21st century economic success; the second largest economy in the world.
In present-day Nigeria, the demand for restructuring the country’s federalism is a much-discussed topic. This call is certainly not new. Since the 1954 Littleton constitution, which laid the foundation for classical federation in the country, the ethnic nationalities of Nigeria have pondered on whether they want to live together and if federalism will ever help these nationalities to realize it’s individual potentials. But while restructuring has always found habitation in the people’s political consciousness, we have always managed to omit one crucial factor: a restructured Nigeria, regardless of how sophisticated the new system is, will be populated by the same set of diverse and disunited persons.
The call for restructuring has developed a habit of comparing the Nigerian polity to that of the Communist Soviet federation, while ignoring the peculiarity of Nigeria’s ethnic composition. Since independence, Nigeria has had a unique problem of achieving solidarity in action and purpose, what many call nationalism, amidst hundreds of ethnic nationalities. At the beginning of the 1960s, there were 3000 ethnic nationalities in the world; about 1000 were represented in Africa and about 445 represented in Nigeria. To break this down, by the country’s independence, Nigeria, only the world’s 32nd largest country, housed 1/6 of the world’s ethnic groups. This peculiarity creates unique problems unknown to the experience of other peoples in the world. It is worth stating here that no western or eastern civilization has ever been encountered with this kind of problem. According to a report conducted in 1999, by The Economist: ‘Nigerians have no common vision of a nation-state called Nigeria, no sense of citizenship.’ Fragmentation of identities within our country seems to be our biggest problem, a problem that can’t be solved by restructuring. Like the Cultural Revolution in China, we can evolve a common vision and focus for this country by inculcating revolutionary nationalistic ideas and doing away with some of our outmoded traditions, especially those that overemphasis the cultural heritage of individual ethnic groups. To realize this ambition, we need to look no further than our Nollywood film industry.
With a long history dating back to the colonial era, Nollywood began to dominate screens across the African continent in the 2000s. In a remarkable achievement, with over 50 movies produced per week, Nollywood has grown to become the 3rd largest (some, e.g. UNESCO, even argue it’s the 2nd) movie industry in the world. It’s even a greater achievement that, while attaining this feat, Nollywood has managed to showcase the history and culture of certain ethnic groups in Nigeria, that of the igbos for instance. According to a report compiled by UNESCO, the Igbo language will become extinct, dead and buried, by 2025, if nothing is done to check its fast-declining use. For this reason, one must applaud Nollywood for producing Igbo films that attempt to rectify this problem. However, rather than being fixated on showcasing individual ethnic heritage, wouldn’t it be beneficial, to the Nigerian state, for Nollywood to produce movies marked with nationalist themes and Nigerian-friendly messages which cut across ethnic lines.
According to a report by Filmmakers Cooperative of Nigeria, every film in Nigeria has a potential audience of 15 million people in Nigerian, and about 5 million people outside the country. This shows a huge potential possessed by Nollywood to spearhead a nationalistic revolution, the type that can potentially break down ethnic boundaries.
When Nollywood films aren’t highlighting the cultural heritage of individual ethnic groups, they are busy infusing subtle messages fated to injure black pride. We need to start seeing messages geared towards promoting collective blackness (one which cuts across ethnic lines) in Nollywood films, and not the usual recycled white-man-good-christianity-defeats-black-man-evil-witchcraft. Make no mistake, there is certainly nothing wrong with being a Nigerian Christian. However, once you have a situation where children as young as 5 years are constantly fed this image of black being synonymous with Satan & Evil and white associated with Jesus & good, it renders useless any slim hope of a Nigerian-based black nationalism. Nollywood must do better. Our movie industry must become a political tool, used for promoting ethnic-free black nationalism.

Monday, July 3, 2017

God Created the Nigerian in 7 Days By Pius Adesanmi

A married man who served two terms as state governor and has since been in the Senate and is one of the "leaders of Nigeria" is caught in a sexual romp in a hotel.
Even that has degenerated into ethnic and religious warfare, underwritten by cultural alibis.
No way to say: what is wrong is wrong; what is bad is bad. Things are never that straightforward in Nigeria.
I have told you times without number here that whenever a Nigerian says, "it is our culture", run away from him as fast as you can. He could be rationalizing or justifying genocide and hiding behind culture.
I have also recently said that Nigeria is a paradise you shouldn't think of quitting because you will find no other paradise on earth where your outrage immediately earns you a broad confederacy of defenders, explainers, understanders, rationalizers, and justifiers of whatever outrage you inflict on our collective space of agency.
Dasuki found his own rationalizers
Apostle Suleman found his own rationalizers
Evans found his own rationalizers
The Senator has found his own rationalizers.
By the time this news cycle is over tomorrow, these rationalizers will move on to other issues. They will lament the dearth of qualitative leadership in Nigeria. They will grumble that our youth today have no credible role models to look up to. There will be no trace of irony in their updates. There will be zero sense of awareness.
They will show no sign of remembering the arguments they marshaled in favour of the Senator's libido less than 24 hours earlier. They will demonstrate no awareness of the sort of leadership they were justifying, explaining, rationalizing, and tolerating for Nigeria a few hours earlier.
The only way I can explain this constitutive chaos in the self of the Nigerian is that it took God all of seven days to create the Nigerian. Each day, he forgot a crucial component part at home and had to make do with emergency Tokunbo parts originally meant for other projects. You know how a Lagos mechanic can put a Honda engine in a Toyota Camry running on Mazda tires?
That is how God created the Nigerian - one unintended part per day for 7 days.
Hence the chaos...
He tried to rest on the 7th day but the Frankenstein he created discovered religion and has been screaming to deny him rest ever since...


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Sunday, July 2, 2017

A Letter to Professor Pius

Dear Prof. Pius Adesanmi,
How are you doing sir? And how has work been? I hope you're fine and that you remain fine to continue your examplary but mostly thankless service to fatherland. Indeed you're a mentor to some of us.
As you​ might remember, we haven't spoken since the first time you called, upon receiving my mail. I'm still pained that, that conversation was cut short by poor network connection which remains an insurmountable challenge in Nigeria.
I'm writing you this time, I'm afraid to wail over the unending nightmare I've had to endure since I entered the University (UniJos) and may I please request that you keep me anonymous if you decide to share this.
So much has been said about the falling standard of education in Nigeria but I think we're been unfair when we say that the standard is falling. Truth is, there's no standard and nothing is falling. It's been buried and forgotten. Tertiary education in Nigeria is in a state beyond sorry. And this decay might be worse in UniJos. I'm an undergraduate of Agriculture as you know and I've got dreams to by God's grace, get to the very top in my field and leave indelible marks of the sands of time. But since I was matriculated into this system of mediocrity, all I've seen are man made impediments to my goal and reasons to get discouraged.
Arbitrary charges and even worse than that; inadequate, antiquated, failed and grossly overstretched facilities is all I'm surrounded by. I've been in a class of over 500 students with no public address system for the lecturer to use. I run to class daily just to get a seat. Students even sit on stones in a 21st century University. Students stand in class for hours or sit on the ailse and I've attached pictures​ to prove this and none of this pictures even came from a GST class. I've been in dillapidated laboratories with an average of 4 instructors to 400 students. I'm not going to talk about the hostel and its deplorable state. I'm not also going to talk about the fact that uptil now, students in UniJos cannot access their results or even lecture notes online. I won't talk about the fact that some lecturers have not updated their notes for years.
In the midst of all of this chaos, I've asked myself several questions: how am I supposed to be at par my contemporaries around the globe, who are taught in mini-heaven classrooms with proper guidance. I've asked how possible it'll be to graduate with the best grade possible because you can't really trust the results you might see. How fair is it to have one lecturer teach 500 students? How will they all be carried along? Where is the place for interaction? How fair will he/she mark assignments, test and exam papers for this crazy number? Won't he get tired and be tempted to do what he deems fit? How employable can graduates produced in this system of utter chaos be? Can you have the next Akinwunmi Adeshina, Amina Mohammed, Odia Ofemun, Kadariah Ahmed and Pius Adesanmi in this chaotic system? What will the place of Nigeria be in a world where intellectualism and ideas are fast becoming the currency? Will our great population add to the world's problem or reduce it?
Now I'm not blind to arguments about increasing tertiary education enrollment, but at what cost to the quality of graduates produced? Do we rather have 1000 quack scientists than 200 qualified ones? To borrow some of the words A.W Tozer a 20th century American preacher used to describe the state of christianity, Education in Nigeria has been so watered down that, if it were to be poison it won't kill anyone and if it were to be a cure, it won't heal anyone I'm even more sad when I see how quick the financiers and owners of this cave of ours send their children abroad to better schools, perhaps so they'll return and be part of the dynasty of crooks.
The ruling class is aware of the power of an educated mind to seek freedom from slavery and hence their deliberate efforts to frustrate both overtly and covertly, anything that liberates the mind. They ironically were better taught, enjoyed better facilities but are neck bent on bequiting nothing to us. But I have bad news for them, I'm out of that cave already and would take as many with me.
Of course I'll do my best to augment all I learn, but I deserve to be treated better. I hope that the opportunity to go beyond Nigeria and position myself properly for the challenging future ahead presents itself soon. I must bequit to my children a better country. A country that'll give them the platform to maximize their potentials.
Yours faithfully,


My Advice to the Igbo Race... By Pius Adesanmi

Not everyone should be writing for the public. Sadly, the democracy of social media and the internet is such that we must endure the co-presence of all sorts of opinionated intellectual dilettantes who can wear the toga of "public commentator".
There are always the giveaways. You will always recognize the dilettantes through their slippages and errors of the rendering. In the Nigerian context, you recognize them when you see the inexperience, the ignorance, often powered by an intractable, self-assured arrogance and presumptuousness.
There is the presumptuousness of thinking you have lessons and lectures for an entire race.
My advice to the Igbo...
My advice to the Yoruba...
My advice to the Hausa-Fulani...
Anyone you see wielding lectures and lessons for an entire race is an inexperienced dilettante who shouldn't be writing for the public.
In the Nigerian context, those who are wiser, cleverer, and more intelligent than an entire race; those who are better positioned to lecture an entire race about what is good for them are very often outsiders to such a race.
These are always little intellects on high horses thinking they are wiser than a whole people combined. My friend, Sam Amadi, is the prompter and instigator of this update.
I am so mad at Sam I can hardly contain myself.
So I notice in passing that Sam is fuming and taking umbrage at some piece written by Reno Omokri. Sam says if it is true that Omokri insulted the Igbo, etc etc. Omokri rushes in to claim that he did not insult the Igbo at which point Sam tenders his apology.
I decide to do what Sam ought to have done before rushing to offer a nonsensical apology: go and check the article in question. Hear Omokri:
"My advice to you and the Igbo race, go and learn diplomacy."
Omokri has lessons and lectures in diplomacy for an entire race? Allah be praised that he did not insult the said race!
My advice to Sam Amadi: withdraw your ill-reflected and hasty apology.
My advice to you, any you, writing for the Nigerian public. You are a member of a race that Europeans enslaved and colonized for more than 500 years. During those years, it was part of the scribal and epistemic culture of the white man to have lectures, lessons, and advice for your entire race. From time to time, an idle white man would mount his high horse and advise "the blacks", "the Africans", "the negro race", "the natives". Every white man assumed he was wiser and more intelligent and had lectures and lessons for your entire race.
The entire history of epistemic resistance mounted by your race is rooted in countering such rudeness and arrogance. This resistance has informed protocols of black and African writing and discourse. In other words, your sorry little outsider ass cannot have lessons and lectures for an entire race, perched on a dwarfish horse.
That is arrogance and presumptuousness taken too far. Every Nigerian ethnic nationality has a coterie of outsider advisers who invade social media with goatskin bags of advice.
I see outsiders advising the Yoruba race all the time.
I see outsiders advising Arewa all the time.
Outsider advisers of the Igbo come in truckloads and lorry loads.
When next you see a Nigerian wielding the stick of wisdom for an entire race of his compatriots to which he does not belong, skip the update. He is one sorry little fellow who should not be writing for the public.
NB:
This does not mean that you cannot have viewpoints on issues pertaining to other ethnicities and identities. If I need to break that down for you, you probably also shouldn't be consuming public discourse.



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Jim in Paradise by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

Distance can hurt but life remains a choice. A man can win if only he can bend circumstances to his favour. I was on a good run and my happiness was taller than the pair of legs that carried me. With more grounds to cover, and the sun at its peak, I went past a bend down a street where I stumbled on a creature. Coincidence is part of the game of life. We can play to win.
The creature was an old friend whose name was Jim. He was translucent. I could clearly see what life had done to him. He was like a ship given much to bear. After covering a huge distance, began to sink. He was in the lower estate of life where good things are luxury, and securing them is often elusive.
Jim was barely forty but he looked as if he was in the pool of old age. Looking pale and drawn, his pair of legs could barely carry him.  He was a slice of his past.
In the past, Jim carried himself about as if unable to hurt a fly. The world was at his feet. Always well dressed, with bloated ego, he was better than a fine wine.
I wonder why he had deteriorated. Tortured by the scorching sun that revealed his emptiness, easily tossed about by the poor hands of the gentle breeze, Jim was pathetic, awful and lost.
He carried himself on the earth, dominated by blood, sand and the rising sun. His boots were clothed with dust and his suntanned face was a foul weather. One could see the misfortune that hung from his neck like an Olympic Medal. Life can sometimes be cruel. Jim was down. He was a shadow of himself. There were other people around him as he approached me.
As he masked his frustration with an exaggerated smile, more revealing were the wrinkles that paraded his face.  Behind him were six or more kids who were his miniature version.
“Jim,” I flashed a smile as we shook hands and hugged.
“Ruyi,” he managed to croak. “Where have you been?” He raised an eyebrow that gave birth to furrow on his forehead.
“Ah,” I pulled away. “I am in Lagos.” I glanced at the kids around him. “Who are they?” I threw out a question and waved my hands at them. They responded by waving their tiny hands towards me in acknowledgment. Satisfied with the courtesy, I returned my gaze to my friend.
Jim scratched his head and could hardly stomach his guilt. He looked at the children and then he returned his gaze to me. He swallowed hard and answered, “They are all mine!”
“WOW!” I gasped and choked. “They are all your children?”
He nodded like a terrified lizard and shifted his weight to one leg. How could he have denied them for all the kids looked like him.
I felt betrayed for Jim had once said to raise a family is luxury. He would be fair to himself if only he has just two kids. Keep them close to his chest and bend any circumstance to his favour. Talk is cheap but life is no bed of roses.



WOLE SOYINKA, KAYODE ESO AND THE MYSTERY GUNMAN

On October 15, 1965, the Nigerian Broadcasting Corporation building was heavily fortified. The Premier, Chief Ladoke Akintola, was scheduled to address the Region. It was a quarter to 7 pm. Akinwande Oshin, who led his crew of three into the newsroom, had two tapes containing the Premier’s speech in both Yoruba and English languages.
Just as Oshin was about to slot in the first tape, a bearded man appeared at the door, as if from nowhere, produced a gun and held it to Oshin’s head. The gunman demanded that the technician handed over the tapes which he was holding. Oshin quietly handed over the tapes to the bearded gunman who appeared very desperate, while the other three men in the cubicle watched the drama with apparent disbelief.
But the gunman was not done yet. He handed a tape over to Oshin and with his gun focused on the radio man’s head, he ordered him to play it. Oshin looked at the gun, looked at the gunman’s face. He read determination and desperation in the cold eyes. He slotted the gunman’s tape in and played it.
The gunman listened to part of the contents and quietly disappeared as mysteriously as he had come.
At his residence, the Premier listened in shock! Instead of his singsong voice addressing the people of the Region, what assaulted his ears was a booming voice: Akintola Go!
Pandemonium broke out. Oshin fled the studio. All over the region, the question was the same: Who was the mystery, gunman? Could it have been a ghost sent by Awolowo from the prison?
Police arrested Oshin and charged him with stealing the Premier’s tapes. He was remanded in custody without bail. The IPO was however not satisfied. He listened to the grapevines and he spread his tentacles. He gathered sufficient information. A single name kept recurring like a decimal point. WOLE SOYINKA.
Wole Soyinka’s arrest was as dramatic as his profession as a dramatist. He phoned the IPO that he heard he had been declared wanted. “Mr. Soyinka, where are you speaking from?” Superintendent Ugowe asked with bated breath. “From my house, of course. Where else? If you will be good enough to collect me from my house, it is in Molete.”
The police car sped off, siren blaring. Ugowe was almost left behind by his team. On getting to Molete, Wole Soyinka was nowhere to be found. Disappointed and deflated, they went back to the station where they met Wole Soyinka waiting for them calmly.
On his first appearance court, the trial judge observed that the accused appeared disheveled. He sported thick bushy hair. He had a goatee beard and the French suit he wore could have done with a bit of dry cleaning.
The Prosecution was led by the DPP himself, T. A. B Oki (World War veteran and later Senior Advocate) and his deputy, Thomas Gomez (later Mr. Justice Gomez).
On the defence side was a crop of young and vibrant lawyers: Oladele Ige, his brother, Bola Ige (later Oyo State Governor; Minister of Power & Steel and Attorney General of the Federation); Olajide Olatawura (later Justice of the Supreme Court; Omotayo Onalaja (later Justice of the Court of Appeal); and Moronfolu Olakunrin (later Senior Advocate). The team was later to be led by Michael Odesanya (later Mr. Justice Odesanya of the High Court of Lagos State).
The trial was fought both in Court and off Court. Whilst counsel exchanged legal brickbats in the court room, political gladiators piled pressures on the young trial judge.
One day, His Lordship was called by the Secretary to the Government, Chief Ejiwunmi who hinted him that the ‘authorities’ were not happy with his seeming arrogance and independence. After confirming that the ‘authorities’ referred to the Premier, His Lordship demanded to meet with him having made up his mind to tell “the Premier, who was a lawyer, the importance of a judge taking an independence stance” if the oath of office was to be meaningful.
On getting to the Premier’s Lodge, the unexpected happened. On being informed by Chief Ejiwunmi that the trial judge was around, the Premier swiftly came straight to the car and went to the passenger side where the judge sat, effectively blocking the door. In his famous aphidian voice, the Premier spoke in his characteristically flawless Yoruba:
“ Ha! Seye (Chief Ejiwunmi), So you have brought such a dignitary here; May God assist you (the judge) in this assignment; We have always known that you are on our side; We have never doubted this, nor believed the contrary story that had drifted into our ears; God will help you with the assignment.” With that the Premier left without allowing His Lordship to utter a word in response.
Let’s get back to the courtroom.
Wole Soyinka’s defense was that he was not the gunman. He stated in his defense that he was in Enugu as a guest of one Okwonah of the Eastern Nigeria Broadcasting Corporation. The Prosecution called one of its witnesses, Soyinka’s Head of Department who testified that he attended a departmental meeting where Soyinka was present at 5 pm that same day in Ibadan!

Extremely happy, the Prosecutor asked the final question, his master-stroke: “Describe his appearance”. He requested. “He was cleanly shaven!” came the response from Professor Axworthy! Knowing that he had damaged his case, the prosecutor sat down. Mr. Odesanya, as an experienced advocate, giggled and refused to cross-examine the professor.
In his judgment, His Lordship dealt a crushing blow to the alibi of the accused person. On the strength of the evidence of Professor Axworthy, the judge found that it was a fiction that Soyinka was in Enugu on October 15.
His Lordship went on: “All the eyewitnesses, including Oshin, were positive that the man who held them up was not masked. The gunman, they all said, was bearded. Professor Axworthy told the court, and it was the DPP who led him to give this evidence, that ‘Wole Soyinka, whom he saw two hours earlier, was clean-shaven’. While I can understand a bearded man at 5 pm in the evening becoming cleanly shaven at 7 pm, I cannot unravel the mystery of a clean shaven man at 5 pm becoming bearded at 7 pm, except he is somehow masked. And the overwhelming evidence placed before the court by the prosecution itself was that the gunman was not masked…with this sharp contradiction in the evidence of the prosecution, I am bound to give the accused person the benefit of the doubt. I, therefore, found him not guilty and he is, accordingly, acquitted and discharged.”
Adapted from The Mystery Gunman by Justice Kayode Eso (Spectrum 1996)

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