A minister’s message to me

“You may forward this to him to reflect on…if he’s redeemable!” A Tinubu minister from the South-West sent this message to a respected, elderly journalist now in his mid-70s. It was meant for me and the Oga did as instructed; he forwarded the message to me. I read what the big man wanted me to read. It was someone’s reaction to my column on the Alaafin-Ooni problem which was described in the column as Yoruba’s “curse of enlightenment.”

The minister said he got it from a Yoruba WhatsApp group, author unknown but he believed so much in what the writer wrote that he thought he should get Olagunju to read it “if he is redeemable.”

And what is in that message of redemption? I read it slowly and carefully because it came from a big man, a minister who had been where I am today: “Undoubtedly a researched article…but this writer is the archetypal Yoruba! He’s the most guilty of all the Yoruba negative attributes he so comprehensively enumerated. A content analysis of his writings shows a consistent, persistent and relentless attack on fellow Yoruba Tinubu under the same ‘curse of enlightenment’! If truly he’s disconcerted about the Yoruba ‘curse’, then he should engage himself in deep introspection – as all the Yoruba abhorrent attitudes he lampoons, he manifests with glee in his vituperations against Tinubu!”

The above is the core content of what the minister said I should read for my redemption. The man described Tinubu as “the first real Yoruba man to attain Nigeria’s presidency.” I read that part and understood the man’s problem.

The minister was not the writer, but he was the Postmaster-General who dispatched the ‘letter’ for delivery to me. I have the minister’s telephone number but I replied him through the same Oga and pleaded that it should be forwarded to him. While I do not owe the complainant any explanation for what I do, I thought the minister had obviously not been reading what he should be reading; or he had been reading the wrong thing. Because no one is completely bad, and no one is comprehensively good, I had written columns that were positive about some positive steps taken by the Tinubu government. I sent the link of one of such columns to the minister through Oga: “I wrote this last year in defence of Tinubu. Did they beg me or pay me before I wrote it? They probably want a slave (a phlegm eater. There was one like that in Old Oyo, serving His Imperial Majesty. His title was Ajitó oba má p’òfóló. That position no longer exists).”

The minister got the message and replied: “Very predictable! I expected that reaction. It’s still along the same line of ‘curse of enlightenment’. Point is – there’s a preponderance of Tinubu bashing that far outstrips any isolated pro -write up.” The minister then drifted into some Hubert Ogunde ‘Yoruba Ronu’ song.

Saul going to Damascus was on a mission to persecute Christians before a heavenly light turned him to Paul. I was happy that, like Ananias, I laid my hand on the minister and got him ‘redeemed’ from seeing the columnist as an inveterate enemy who sees absolutely no good in the king and his gilded palace. His reaction shows an admission that, at least there is now an “isolated pro-writeup” from a Yoruba man who is an ‘enemy’ of his brother, the president. If the minister had been a Muslim, I would have exclaimed Allahu Akbar (God is Great) at his redemption.

What I canvassed in my article on peace among Yoruba oba was unity of the race. What the minister and his writer demanded was conspiracy of silence by an entire race. Unity means togetherness, it means oneness of purpose; it does not mean sheepish following. I consulted a text here and it told me that true unity does not require uniformity of thought; it means standing together on some issues and respecting differences in others, even allowing for reasonable discourse. I agree with that reasoning. A people sworn to a conspiracy of silence are a people heading towards perdition. Their motive is to protect selfish interests and avoid difficult truths. Their spring water, in the words of the Ghanaian writer, Ayi Kwei Armah, is flowing towards the desert. Its end is extinction.

The minister and the anonymous critic of the columnist want all Yoruba to sleep and put all their heads on the same pillow. They thought every Yoruba comment and commentary about Tinubu and his government must be positive. They say it has to be because the president is Yoruba. When you hear or read stuff like this, you question their claim to Awolowo’s ideology of public service. Since they claim to be progressives of the Awolowo school, the best an ‘enemy’ like me can do is to invite their attention to Awoism and its literature. There is this quote from Chief Obafemi Awolowo’s autobiography: “The Yoruba are a fastidious, critical and discerning people. They will not do anything in politics merely to oblige a fellow Yoruba. If the Yorubaman is satisfied that your policy is good and will serve his self-interest, he will support you no matter from which ethnic group you hail.” Before I am accused of manufacturing this quote, I quickly say that it is on page 261 of the 1997 edition of the book, ‘Awo’.

Column writing is a self-inflicted draining enterprise. And, in taking up that beat, the columnist has behind his mind journalism’s famous interrogative sextet: who, what, where, when, how, and why. He may satisfy all or may not. That is where what he writes is different from what the everyday beat reporter does. This columnist has no enemy. The decision as to what to fix his eyes on, and how to plot his way through the labyrinth of interrogation of the issues is entirely his. Picking his words on the keyboard with one finger as I do, the columnist’s journalism sees ghastly scenes with humane and critical eyes. It is futile (and too late) to seek to goad him into the tribal cave of the heathen. What he does weekly are monologues of suppressed anger at the subversion of the noble in his heritage as a (Yoruba) Nigerian.

The columnist asks questions even when he knows answers won’t come. Over six weeks ago, Works minister, Dave Umahi, announced the Ibadan–Ife–Ilesha road as one of the South West roads that had got 30 per cent funding “for work to start in earnest.” Has anyone seen a one per cent work done on that road since then? Where did the money go? The Yoruba columnist must not ask those questions because the president is Yoruba. Yet, those terribly bad federal roads are in Yorubaland. How did people in this government feel when they heard President John Mahama of Ghana announce the deportation of Nigerians from the US through Ghana? Mahama said at a press conference last week that “a group of 14 deportees including Nigerians and one Gambian have already arrived in Ghana, and the government facilitated their return to their home countries.” Deported from the US to Ghana; deported again from Ghana to Nigeria. 

That is the dilemma of being a Nigerian today. Rejection abroad; hostility and suffering at home (Ilé ò gbàá, ònà ò gbàá). Japa is about fleeing a hostile country in search of safety, opportunities, and dignity. Arrival abroad reveals a reality that mocks expectation. Mass deportations from the US; far-right, anti immigrant rallies in the UK. Yet, the people in charge of our affairs think it is bastardy for a Yoruba to tell a Yoruba president and his government that they should work harder; that they should see ‘performance’ beyond serving themselves and their families; that the people of Nigeria deserve a cosy, comfortable country which works and functions as home to all.

In fairness to the president, one of his first charges to journalists was that they should hold his feet to the fire of vigilance. Nothing, so far, has suggested that he has changed his mind. But his (overzealous) men want the journalist to join the On-Your-Mandate-We-Stand choir or keep quiet. Collective silence is collective death. When did we collectively decide to be deaf and dumb? Where and when speech is duty, keeping quiet when you have a voice is a betrayal. And being silent in the face of wrong is akin to telling a lie. And our ancestors say a lie may glow and bloom but what it ultimately yields is bad, poisonous fruits (Bí irọ́ bá tan iná, kò lè so èso rere). 

This writer promises to continue to be fair; he pledges to strive to write well, better and sweet without bile. But then, he should be allowed to tell the minister to minister well and the president to preside well. That is the road to our collective salvation. He will not abandon that road.

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