his open letter to Prof. Wole Soyinka
from writer/activist, Ayo Sogunro. Read
below and tell us what you think...
I do not know you personally, but
I admire your filial bravery -
however misguided - in defending
the honour of your father, the
late General Sani Abacha. This in
itself is not a problem; it is an
obligation—in this cultural
construct of ours - for children to
rise to the defence of their
parents, no matter what infamy or
perfidy the said parent might
have dabbled in.
The problem I have with your
letter, however, arises from two
issues: (i) your disparaging of
Wole Soyinka, who—despite your
referral to an anecdotal opinion
that calls him as "a common
writer"—is a great father figure,
and a source of inspiration, to a
fair number of us young Nigerians;
and (ii) your attempt to revise
Nigerian history and substitute
our national experience with your
personal opinions. Continue...
Therefore, it is necessary that we who
are either Wole Soyinka's "socio-
political" children, or who are ordinary
Nigerians who experienced life under
your father's reign speak out urgently
against your amnesiac article, lest some
future historian stumble across the
misguided missive, and confuse the
self-aggrandized opinions of your family
for the perceptions of Nigerians in
general.
Your letter started with logical
principles, which is a splendid common
ground for us. So let us go with the
facts: General Sani Abacha was a
dictator. He came into power and
wielded it for 5 years in a manner
hitherto unprecedented in Nigerian
history. Facts: uncomfortable for your
family, but true all the same.
Now, for my personal interpretations:
between 1993 and 1998 inclusive, when
your dada was in power, I was a boy of
9 to 14 years and quite capable of
making observations about my political
and cultural environment. Those years
have been the worst years of my
material life as a Nigerian citizen. Here
are a few recollections: I recollect
waking up several mornings to scrape
sawdust from carpentry mills, lugging
the bags a long distance home, just to
fuel our "Abacha stoves" because
kerosene was not affordable—under
your father. I recollect cowering under
the cover of darkness, with family and
neighbours, listening to radio stations—
banned by your father. I recollect my
government teacher apologetically and
fearfully explaining constitutional
government to us—because free
speech was a crime under your father's
government. Most of all, I remember
how the news of your father's death
drove me—and my colleagues at school
—to a wild excitement, and we burst
into the street in delirious celebration.
Nobody prompted us, but even as 13
and 14 year olds, we understood the
link between the death of Abacha and
the hope of freedom for the ordinary
man.
These are all sorry tales, of course. Such
interpretations would not have occured
to the wealthy and the privileged under
your father's government, but they
were a part of the everyday life of a
common teenager under that
government. The economics were bad,
but the politics were worse. And I am
not referring to Alfred Rewane, Kudirat
Abiola and the scores killed by the
order of your father. Political killings are
almost a part of every political system,
and most of those were just newspaper
stories to us. In fact, I didn't get to
read most of the atrocities until long
after your father died. So, these stories
did not inform the dread I personally
felt under your father's regime. And this
was true for my entire family and our
neighbours.
Instead, the worry over our own
existence was a more pressing issue.
Your father, Sani Abacha was in Aso
Rock, but his brutality was felt right in
our sitting room. We were not into
politics and we didn't vocally oppose
Abacha, yet we just knew we were not
safe from him. You see, unlike any
dictatorship before or after it—your
father's government personally and
directly threatened the life and
freedoms of the average Nigerian. Your
father threatened me. And if your
father had not died, I am confident that
I would not be alive or free today.
Think of that for a while.
Now, let's come to Wole Soyinka. First:
you can never eradicate the infamy of
your father's legacy by trying to point
out the failings of another Nigerian.
Remember what you said: A is A.
Abacha is Abacha. And no length of
finger pointing will wash away the
odious feeling the name of Abacha
strikes up in the mind of the average
Nigerian. Second : Don't—as they
musician said—get it twisted: Wole
Soyinka did not antagonize your father
just because he was a military man—
Wole Soyinka was against your father's
inhumanity. Your father was intolerant
of criticism beyond belief.
Your father made military men look
bad. Your father's behaviour was so bad
it went back in time and soiled the
reputation of every military man before
him. Your father, finally, made Nigerians
swear never—ever—to tolerate the
military again. Soyinka may have
worked with the military before—but
your father ensured that he will never
work with the military again. Do you
see? Three : Evil comes in many forms:
there is no qualification by degree.
There is no "good" evil thing. Sani
Abacha, Boko Haram, Hitler, slavery—
they all fit into the same category of
misfortunes. Soyinka is right: Abacha
was just as bad as Boko Haram is—deal
with it. Four: Soyinka has been kind
enough to limit his criticism to the
unenviable awards this inept
government has given your father. But,
you see, in a saner political system, we
wouldn't just ignore your father, we
would have gone one step further and
expunged the Abacha name from all
public records. Wiped without a trace.
Abacha would forever be a cautionary
tale against the excesses of political
power. In a saner political system.
Abacha was brutal—and Soyinka was
one of those individuals who gave us
inspiration in those dark days. He was
part of the team that founded the
underground radio station to counter
your father's activities. Let me rephrase
in pop culture language: Wole Soyinka
was the James Bond to your father's
KGB. Most of the influential people
either kept quiet or sang the praises of
your father to stave his wrath. But a
few like Soyinka spoke, wrote and even
went militant against Abacha. But at the
end, even Soyinka who never ran from
a fight had to run from your father. That
was how terrible things were. And now
you want Soyinka to join the praise
singers of your father? I'm not certain
Soyinka has grown old enough to forget
how he escaped your father,slipping
across the border in disguise. You will
have to wait awhile to get that praise
from him.
Now, back to you. You have a deluded
sense of your father's role in the
progress of Nigeria's history. Nigeria has
managed to be where it is today, not
because of leaders like your father—but
in spite of leaders like your father. This
is a testament to the Nigerian spirit of
resilience, and our unwavering
optimism in a better future. You owe
every Nigerian an apology for daring to
attribute this to the leadership of
Abacha. Those "achievements" you
believe were accomplished under your
father were simply all the things he had
to do to keep milking the economy, and
thereby perpetuate himself in power—
they benefited Nigeria only if, by
Nigeria, you meant your family and your
cronies.
Your tone is that of a white master who
justifies his oppression because he
clothed and fed his black slaves. That is
what your father did. The fact that we
choose not to regurgitate, and reflect
on that socially traumatic period doesn't
mean we accept it as your entitlement.
We have not forgotten, and we will
never forget. Sani Abacha raped
Nigeria. Your father raped us. Your
father raped us and then pressed some
change into our hands. And he then
tried to marry us forcefully, too. You
may think all this is well and good—but
then you've never been raped before.
But we now live under a democracy—
the kind your father denied us—and so
you are free to talk. And so you are free
to insult the people who ensured that
your father had sleepless nights. Had
the revolution your father rightly
deserved happened, you—and the rest
of your family—would have been lined
against a wall, before you could pen one
article, and shot.
And we would probably have cheered.
But we live under a democracy now—a
system of government where even the
scions of former oppressors can talk,
and write freely, about the benefits of
dictatorship. That's a democracy. A
concept your father wouldn't have
understood.
Regards,
Ayo Sogunro
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