“Nigeria now stands well-built upon firm foundations,” so began the story of this country in an eloquent speech by its founding and only ever Prime Minister, Alhaji Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, on October 1, 1960. Less than six years after this historic fanfare, the foundations he extolled were dampened by his blood, along with that of his political classmates, in a madness intended to be a coup. And Nigeria’s struggles since then—since January 15, 1966—have been fraught attempts to stop the house from falling.
That Nigeria is still standing, for those who’ve underplayed the sophisticated pacts of its elites across generations, is a miracle. But it was precisely the startup built and handed over to the elites by their European predecessors. The elites also learned from the colonisers the art of preserving the ancient tension between the South and the North—and of course Muslims and Christians— through brute force. When the Tafawa Balewa-led First Republic was truncated, the people were forcefully persuaded to accept the blood-smeared chessboard of an overbearing military institution that would go on to hold the country hostage for nearly 30 disrupted years in power.
Beyond the simplification of Nigeria’s 60th anniversary as a miracle, we must scrutinise what Nigeria means to both the beneficiaries and the victims of its dysfunctions. As one political tribe gathered at Eagle Square to exhibit their flamboyant clothes, sing praises of the nation’s might, and perform cheesy poems in gratitude to the country, we were haunted by the sorrows of fellow citizens cramped in IDP camps, and others living in fear of bandits across villages, especially in the North.
These peculiar experiences are the reason patriotism is understood differently among Nigerians. It’s also why performative patriotism diminishes down the social ladder. And so the expectation that every citizen must be a loud peacock in proving allegiance to the country is a mistake, for patriotism isn’t pretending that all’s well. It’s acknowledging all dysfunctions and working to undo them. We must never confuse patriotism with sycophancy.
At 60, the mirror before Nigeria isn’t an image to praise excessively, and we must resist the temptation to view the country from our privileged positions. About 40% of the population live below the poverty line, so much that it’s been declared the poverty capital of the world. The patriotism of the 2.5 million Nigerians displaced by conflict can’t be expressed in the same fashion as that of the political and military overlords acquiring properties in Dubai and living la Vida Loca with the funds earmarked for fighting the terrorist groups responsible. We also have 12 million out-of-school kids roaming the streets of Nigeria, the most in the world. There’s also an endless cycle of clashes between herders and farmers, which has been so mismanaged it’s cited as the reason for the spate of mysterious killings across Nigeria. This is, also, Nigeria at 60!
But there are lessons to learn from Nigeria’s transition from that promising postcolonial state that once demonstrated the audacity to confront the West in pursuits of its foreign policy to this overwhelmed regional power at the mercy of rent-dependent elites, terrorists, bandits, and kidnappers. The same Nigeria that once sent the ambassador of powerful France out of the country for undermining its power two years through this self-government—and asked the West to steer clear of interfering in Africa about fifteen years through its independence—is being piloted by statesmen who function as caricatures, afraid even, of US visa restrictions.
At 60, it’s dawned on us even more clearly that the 1966 coup by Major Kaduna Nzeogwu and friends set in motion exactly what they claimed were the problems of Nigeria. The coup, which is still debated as ethnically inclined, intensified the sectionalism that has stalled Nigeria and rehabilitated this factory of mediocre leadership of which we are all willing and unwitting participants. The military junta that took over, and their subsequent replacements, institutionalised nepotism, crony capitalism, and corruption that, looking back, one is shocked at the quality of cannabis that must’ve inspired that “revolution.”
The speeches of heads of Nigeria sixty years apart calibrate our progress. On October 1, 1960, Tafawa Balewa advertised Nigerian democracy as one in which “…constitutional advance has been purposefully and peacefully planned with full and open consultation…” On the same day, 60 years later, the man in charge sold our democracy as one in which “…if some constituencies choose to bargain off their power, they should be prepared for denial of their rights.” The distinction here in their styles, one democrat is hopelessly condescending—as though he’s doing the people who elected him a favour.
If Buhari’s tone struck citizens as supercilious, he painted it even more frighteningly in underplaying the economic hardship of a country that was declared the poverty capital of the world under his watch. “Egypt charges N211 per litre,” he said to dismiss the outrage over the fuel price hike, adding that “Saudi Arabia charges N168 per litre. “It makes no sense for oil to be cheaper in Nigeria than in Saudi Arabia.” It didn’t matter to the President that Saudi Arabia’s minimum wage is about N305,113, against his country’s partially implemented N30,000.
This disconnection from the plights of the masses is a style that isn’t unique to President Buhari. It’s the heritage of our policymakers’ classist interpretations of Nigeria and its problems. Today, the most economically immune families in Nigeria aren’t the hardest-working, but those either in, or affiliated to, the government. This also explains the desperation to be in power, and stay there no matter what it takes, for being outside the system means losing immunity to the chain of dysfunctions that haunt Nigeria.
Nigeria is still standing because of its dysfunctions, which the elites have exploited to enrich themselves across ethnic, religious and regional divides. So, it’s sensible for these merchants to be more “patriotic” than the rest of the citizens. But contrary to those who’ve accused everyday Nigerians of lacking patriotism, what we call the miracle that’s held Nigeria together isn’t just the interests of the elites. It’s the refusal of everyday Nigerians to choose anarchy, preferring peaceful antagonism to a system that’s weaponised poverty to frustrate dissenters. We just don’t seem to realise the sacrifices of our fighters until years after their time, either because of the inevitable biological end or their crossover to the side of the demons they once fought.
So, Nigeria at 60 is also a child of the unacknowledged patriotism of everyday citizens. The unified political elites understand this, and this is why they’ve weaponised poverty to keep the rebels at the bottom of the food chain, and quick to go for their guns once a citizen becomes a threat. But the danger of this arrangement is that the politicians seem to have overstretched the patience of these rebels beyond the imaginable elastic limit, and are refusing to pay mind to the consequent backlash.
We can’t be practising democracy and yet be arresting the citizens who take to the streets to demonstrate their grievances. It’s even scarier when you realise that the same government pampers terrorists and bandits in the name of amnesty. This anniversary is an avenue to rethink this contradiction. The crystal we call a diamond, and praise as indestructible, is an unmistakable glass pane. We must handle it with care.
