Questions for my Yoruba Brothers By Babafemi Ojudu

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By Babafemi Ojudu, CON

“We must complain. Yes plain, blunt complaints, (peaceful) ceaseless agitation, unfailing exposure of dishonesty and wrong—this is the ancient, unerring way to liberty, and we must follow it.”

— W.E.B. Du Bois

“War is what happens when language fails.”

— Margaret Atwood

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“Nothing in the world is harder than speaking the truth and nothing easier than flattery.”

— Fyodor Dostoevsky

From the outset, let me be clear: I abhor violence and reject war in all its forms. Yet, I staunchly believe in protest and dissent as cornerstones of a democratic society. I have lived this truth, endured detentions and deprivations for it, and will continue to advocate for freedom and a free spirit until my last breath.

Since turning 18, I have participated in countless protests, always peacefully, never resorting to violence. I have marched alongside notable Nigerians such as the indefatigable lawyer Chief Gani Fawehinmi and the eloquent and urbane advocate for democracy and good governance, Mr. Alao Bashorun.

Elders like Chief Anthony Enahoro, Wole Soyinka, Baba Omojola, and Dr. Frederick Faseun have shared the streets of Lagos with my generation, standing firm against injustice, often facing tear gas and state violence.

At that time, the current president and some of his closest associates have been vocal in encouraging us to protest against hardship, injustice, and poor governance. As allies, we have mobilized young men and women to decry rigged elections and the perceived theft of national resources.

The Yoruba people, to whom I proudly belong, have historically led the charge against colonialism, local oppression, military brutality, and corruption. In times past, if other ethnic groups hesitated to speak out, the Yoruba would courageously stand up, voice their dissent, and face the consequences.

This legacy, inherited from the leaders of the first republic—who boldly opposed colonial masters and their local collaborators—must not be forgotten. It is why figures like Chief Obafemi Awolowo and Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti were seen as threats by colonial authorities and faced various indignities.

It is why Wole Soyinka, Tai Solarin, Fela Anikulapo Kuti, Femi Falana, and others were imprisoned and why leaders like Bola Ahmed Tinubu, Gen Alani Akinrinade, and Dr. Amos Akingba went into exile to continue their agitation against the Sani Abacha regime.

What has changed? Yes, we now have a civilian government. But does this mean that the issues we protested against have vanished, and we now live in an ideal society? Absolutely not. Even under this so-called democracy, our leaders, now in power, have sometimes called for protests against policies during the presidencies of Chief Olusegun Obasanjo and Dr. Goodluck Jonathan. Some have even sheltered Niger Delta agitators after they protested by attacking oil pipelines.

Now, I pose this question to my Yoruba brothers, many of whom shared the struggle with me: What has changed? Is it because we now have a Yoruba president that dissent must cease, and those who oppose the current order must be labelled as dangerous troublemakers and foreign invaders?

We often profess to be Christians and Muslims. Yet, some are now resorting to traditional rites and mystical practices such as Oro and Agemo to prevent peaceful gatherings in places like Yaba and Tinubu Square.

We are deploying hate against fellow Nigerians while those we serve hoard wealth in banks owned by the Igbos we so hate and award lucrative contracts to those we are told to despise. All because they do not want their fellow Yorubas to know their secret heists.

There have always been those who misuse protests for their gain, and there always will be. This is why we have law enforcement, who should be trained and equipped to manage such situations, ensuring public safety and protecting property.

Using money and fear to suppress dissent, especially when it is “our turn” to wield power, will be counterproductive. We are fostering hate and alienating other ethnic groups, demonising people who have been our neighbours, classmates, and fellow citizens. We must remember that power is fleeting; today, it is our turn, but tomorrow, it will be someone else’s.

The maximum tenure for any leader is eight years unless we are now advocating for life presidencies. When it is someone else’s turn, and they retaliate against “our children” who were in power, will we still be able to protest?

Life is a continuum, and future leaders may come from unexpected places. Who could have imagined Donald Trump leading America? Yet, today, he embodies rhetoric reminiscent of darker times in history. Many of my friends in America are troubled by the prospect of his return to power.

If a leader akin to Sani Abacha were to rise in Nigeria, would we, the Yoruba, still have the courage to speak out against injustice, corruption, and nepotism?

I know that after this is published, there will be backlash, as there has been in the past. But these attacks will not deter me like water off a duck’s back.

Some of us must have the courage to speak out, not just for today but for tomorrow. We must not pass down a legacy of complacency, ethnic baiting, or blind loyalty to future generations.

This is not the heritage Awolowo and his contemporaries left to us, nor what Wole Soyinka exhorts in his writings and activism. It is not the lesson taught by Tai Solarin, Gani Fawehinmi, or the many others who inspired our generation of activists.

Leaders are not always wrong, just as agitators are not always right. However, the right to voice one’s opinions must be preserved in any democracy, especially one that seeks progress.

As Soyinka so powerfully reminded us, “The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny.”