06 Jan 2006 |
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When Nigerians announce today that "we (to) live in interesting times", they do not use the word "interesting" in the sense of their location in a positively challenging moment in history. Rather, they use the word "interesting" to mean "difficult", "ambiguous", "frustrating", if not "hopeless". Thus, the phrase does not amount to a prayer or celebration, but a declaration of pain and anxiety. It is indeed difficult to controvert this reaction. Nigerians are once again, at that moment in their history when every citizen is required to take a stand, express a point of view, and generally demonstrate interest in the fortunes of the country. This is one of those moments when the linkages between the destiny of the individual and that of the nation become the sub-text for daily existence, and expectations about the future. One Nigerian may look at the other and ask: Where do you stand on this or that urgent issue of the day? These times affect good people differently. The responses vary. And it is pointless asking how bad people are affected, they are the authors of the people's difficulties. But what should good people do in a season of distress? When Nigerians look around their nation, and they see how the democracy that they fought for between 1993 and 1999, has been turned into a joke by their own elected representatives, party bigwigs, and self-appointed custodians of the instruments of power, they either throw up their arms in exasperation and make merry, or they go mad, or they opt for exile. Those who make merry are no less patriotic than others. They are good people, but the uncertainties of Nigerian life have made them cynical. They no longer trust government. They live outside government, and they are happy to do so. Indeed when they hear the words government or politics, they immediately shut down their response systems. They don't want to get involved. Many of them had tried to love government in the past, and they had been thoroughly disappointed. They have since accepted bad leadership as their lot. Unable to change their environment, they have sought refuge in an empire of the self. Every week, they attend one party or the other where they sink their sorrow in bottles of alcohol, or they enjoy the company of others, who like them, believe that life is for the living, and no matter how bad Nigeria may appear, life must continue. These are Nigerians who are prepared to love their neighbours as themselves. They mean well. But their talents have been suppressed. Their voices have been silenced. Unable to make any impact in the society in which they live, some of them make merry at endless parties, or at beer parlours, but a great lot of them prefer to make merry in places of religious worship. They troop in large number to churches, mosques, temples and shrines where they call on transcendental forces to intervene in the affairs of Nigeria, and in their own personal lives. Unable to speak to the leaders that they have elected, since they would not listen anyway; unable to reach public officials who are hidden away behind armoured vehicles, a battalion of bodyguards, and mansions with tall fences, they turn to God, priests, and mallams who embrace them, acknowledge their humanity, and offer them hope. Religious worship in Nigeria is a form of merry-making. The people sing and dance. The freedom of speech that they cannot find in open society is no t a luxury in the presence of God. The redemption that they seek suddenly becomes a possibility. Even miracles are promised. And so they make merry. No wonder then, that in every Nigerian city where the pain of the present is most felt, there are as many beer parlours and pepper soup joints as there are places of religious worship and spiritual counselling. The people run away from government. They do not listen to politicians and civil servants. But they are happy in the presence of musicians; they are friendly with the owners of enjoyment spots; they love their Pastors, they adore the priests who study their stars, interpret their fortunes, and assure them of the superiority of Higher Forces over the powerful human beings who are wasting the people's dreams... But there are others in our country today who are mad. To see elected representatives looting the treasury, and travelling abroad to hide their loot; to see public office being turned into an opportunity for primitive accumulation, to see democracy being trampled upon with impunity; to see persons who should be humble carrying on with so much arrogance, fills these Nigerians with anger. They know and they believe that God exists, but they don't want to bother God, rather they would hold the leaders who have been elected or appointed to make a difference in the lives of the people, responsible. They point to the bad roads, the poor state of public infrastructure, the failure of institutions, the hypocrisy of leaders, and the idiocy of the politicians, six years after democracy, and they declare, as loudly as they can: this is not right. Nor it is fair. And so they say - No, through attitude and choice, to the non-payment of teachers' salaries, the neglect of pensioners, the abortion of all the promises of a good life, on the basis of which they sacrificed their lives, joy, and resources to push the military out and away, so that the government of the people can be established. But now, what they see is grand betrayal. There are many among these angry Nigerians who lost their fathers, uncles, mothers, wives, and friends to the struggle against democracy. Those who were killed by Abacha's guards. Those whose parents died in detention. Those who became Abacha's prisoners of conscience. They are looking back and asking angrily: is this what we suffered for. What is the worth of our sacrifice in retrospect? Did we experience all that pain, so an Obasanjo can hold Nigeria hostage? So we may listen to Ahmadu Ali and his unreasonable comments? So we can watch the costly melodramas of Anambra and Ngige, Adedibu and Rashidi Ladoja, and Dariye of Plateau State? Or so we may watch upstarts who never made any sacrifice, never experienced any pain, suddenly show up, cart away the prize of democracy, and then knock the cup on the heads of the people. Or so we may be insulted by sycophantic Special Assistants? Rather than weep, or gnash their teeth in frustration, these angry Nigerians choose instead to learn their lessons. Now, they know that democracy may not necessarily guarantee freedom. Now, they know that civilians can be as bad, or worse than soldiers. Now, they understand that democracy can be used against the people. But they are not saying - No to democracy. They are opposed to bad leadership. And they hold President Obasanjo personally responsible. And they are beginning to organise themselves into a credible opposition. The churches are beginning to preach against tyranny. Civil society groups are holding meetings. In ordinary places, Nigerians now discuss the affairs of their nation a bit more aggressively. Ordinary discussions end up as arguments, with tempers rising. What is required is only a small act of provocation, and the people's anger will explode. That explosion, if it ever comes, would be a summary response to the present nightmare. Its threat alone may well save the nation. Out of the fear of that which may come, many Nigerians, good people too, are heading for the embassies. Ahead of what they fear may happen, they are obtaining exit visas. Or they are saving money against that day when there may be an urgent need to rush out of the country. Those Nigerians do not want to wait to see Obasanjo and the PDP disembowel Nigeria. They know that when a nation's roof collapses, a heavy price is bound to be paid. To prevent Nigerians turning themselves into refugees in their home countries, the Embassies are studying the political situation closely. They are asking questions and offering interpretations. They are re-working their visa application rules. But this won't stop Nigerians from running away. They include the best and the brightest who cannot find true meaning in the land of their birth; the rich who do not want to take any risks with their lives, and the frustrated who are searching for fresh air. They know that exile is a double-edged sword but they no longer care. This, in short, is what Obasanjo's leadership has done to the good people of Nigeria. This is the result of our democracy: The distempers of these times should make all wise men and women angry.
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When Nigerians look around their nation, and they see how the democracy that they fought for between 1993 and 1999, has been turned into a joke by their own elected representatives, party bigwigs, and self-appointed custodians of the instruments of power, they either throw up their arms in exasperation and make merry, or they go mad, or they opt for exile. Those who make merry are no less patriotic than others. They are good people, but the uncertainties of Nigerian life have made them cynical. They no longer trust government. They live outside government, and they are happy to do so. Indeed when they hear the words government or politics, they immediately shut down their response systems. They don't want to get involved. " />







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