Margaret Thatcher and the Division of Memories

"It looks like one of the best birthdays I have ever had. There's no sympathy from me for what she did to our community. She destroyed our community, our villages and our people. For the union this could not come soon enough and I'm pleased that I have outlived her. "It's a great day for all the miners, I imagine we will have a counter demonstration when they have her funeral."

- David Hopper, general secretary of the Durham Miners' Association, who turned 70 a day after Margaret Thatcher's death.

A few months ago, I came across a piece written by Ngozi Chimamanda Adichie, entitled "We Remember Differently". It was a sobering, beautifully delivered, well-balanced article, which to my mind brought some maturity to what was an increasingly puerile debate, on the back of Chinua Achebe's book, "There was a Country". In his book, Achebe had placed sole blame on Obafemi Awolowo, the then Nigerian Finance Minister and number two man, for the Igbo's starvation during the Civil War and went on to forward a theory that he did so, to grab political power and advance his own people, the Yorubas. He damned Awolowo with his own words:

"All is fair in War and starvation is a weapon of War...."

In the midst of the furore that greeted the great man's book, Adichie successfully addressed not only the reasoning behind the lifelong antipathy Igbos now held for Awolowo, but went on to also explain some of the ethnic pictures which Nigerians had painted based on their version of historical memories. For me, her towering moment in the article was when she reminded some, of how the 1966 coup was viewed by some Nigerians as an Igbo vanguard to eliminate leaders of the Northern and Western regions, whilst sparing the Eastern premier. In conclusion, she hoped we would allow our different memories to sit side by side, rather than attack each other for holding disparate views.

Fast-forward to the demise of Margaret Thatcher and the euphoric reaction in some quarters to the passing of the woman most are calling the greatest British peace-time Prime Minister. To dispute Thatcher's greatness would of course be futile, as the history books will always remember her as the individual whose bloody-mindedness and purpose of cause, literally pulled the United Kingdom back from the precipice. Anyone who witnessed the civil collapse of the 70's and the resulting litter, industrial malfunction and dead bodies lying everywhere, would attest to the need for such a leader.

Of course, the very same qualities which ensured the country was straightened up from its bended-knee position, also meant the appointed culprit of the time, the trade unions (especially the mining industry), had to be broken for any progress to be made. In the quest for that dragon-slaying, Thatcher relentlessly pursued and destroyed the unions with a hardness that had not been previously seen in a British PM. Inevitably, the societies which were inextricably linked to those unions, still bear the scars of that bloody war.....yes, make no mistakes, everything Thatcher did, she did like a warrior. 

And I am almost certain she also believed all is fair in War...

Some people, especially those who live abroad may be unaware of the tsunami of jubilation that has greeted Thatcher's demise. There are people actually working franctically to organise parties to celebrate her death, whilst the mainstream gathers to honour her with a more dignified exit. To qualify further for the avoidance of doubt, the celebrations are not to celebrate her life, but to celebrate the fact she has finally died! 

The pit closures she effected did ruin those mining communities and I guess unless you live in those areas, one may not be qualified to comment, but I must saying seeing placards saying; 'The Bitch is Dead,' may have just been a bit too tasteless for my liking. 

Such anticipated hatred is probably behind the Thatcher family's request to not have a state funeral. It would be undignifyingly sad if such an iconic figure were interred surrounded by protest.

                           

On the other side of town, where Thatcher is revered, the story is unsurprisingly different. Her supporters, mostly from the south of the country, want her to have a full state funeral. Her popularity amongst this demographic is nothing short of immeasurable and they will be the people who inevitably line the streets to pay respect on her final journey. To call this group of people disciples may appear hyperbolic, but one can only ask observers to wait until the ceremonies begin to adjudge for themselves. 

As for the military tributes, they will definitely be full honours, but then only the very bitter would deny her that....her Falklands war adventures have more or less secured her position.

So how do I remember Margaret Thatcher?

Firstly, I think her greatest trick was to pass away whilst a Conservative PM was in Number 10. Aside from this, I remember her like a strong, old-fashioned Nigerian mother. An individual so concrete in their beliefs, the possibility of any wobble was a distant thought. I remember her the same way I remember my childhood neighbour who when her children became errant, would declare: "you either obey my rules or move out of my house" and actually meant it, as one of those kids was to find to their chagrin.

At the time, the woman's confidence, sure and unshaken, appeared unreasonable and wicked to some (especially moi), but a few days afterwards, the prodigal daughter returned home, tail between legs. It was an outcome the mother unwaveringly believed will occur...it was a warrior's decision, delivered with a warrior's instinct! This was the Thatcher instinct - a self-belief which had few fans, but 8 times out of 10, turned out to be correct.

Ironically, when one looked at a picture of Margaret Thatcher's cabinet, it was this lone woman in the centre of pompous public schoolboys, whose only exposure to female authority was probably when they were growing up at home. The manner in which she controlled, titillated, cajoled and ultimately put them all in their place, and the way in which they feebly reacted, but ultimately put her to the sword, would be my overall abiding memory of the most divisive British Prime Minister of all time.

Adieu Maggie....even in death, I am certain you would have wanted all these stories to be side by side, but then I cannot help but have this niggling suspicion you would not have really cared how your detractors remembered you. 

A Life more Extraordinary

And so one by one, Nigerians of incomparable gravitas leave us and our beleaguered polity behind.

Of course, in times like these, we the people, bring forth our well rehearsed eulogies and blow our mournful trumpets of gloom. We are very good at doing that you see....

I do want to bore you with the minutiae of Chinua Achebe's life, as this has already been recorded and decanted too many times to count. But it might be worth reminding us all, there is nothing stopping us (especially Nigerians) doing all we can, in any field we may find ourselves, of pursuing a life those left behind would not require enforcement or cohesion to celebrate.

As can be clearly seen with Achebe's life, whether you subscribed to the man or not, his achievements are indubitable. For those who think his talents were limited to writing novels, a visit is necessary to the literary critique (An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad's Heart of Darkness) delivered by Achebe in 1975 in response to Joseph Conrad's novel, 'Heart of Darkness'.

Yes, I wasn't a complete disciple, as his political slant on certain issues veered away from mine, but then he had seen and endured a lot more than my novice could lay claim to. Besides as Ngozi Adichie rightly noted, we do 'remember differently' and let's be frank, most of my 'memories' are in reality 'pass me down,' in the true oral tradition, that the great scribe trumpeted until his last days.

One area though where I will forever remain on the same page with the great man is the written word. Being interested in prose myself, I have often fantasised about writing a critique of Achebe's work, but ironically, words always failed me.

Having seen various attempts in the same pursuit, I often seek comfort in knowing I am not alone in that eternal struggle.

In a TIME Magazine article in 2006, an equally gargantuan talent from our shores did his very best and surmised:

"Achebe's influence on writers of succeeding generations is too great to quantify. Above all, this griot of modern letters has left the authentic imprint of African cultures across the globe, with a succession of narratives that challenge the skewed view of the continent in European literary tradition. His confident narratives of the life that was destroyed under the colonial mandate serve as models both of historical restoration and of stylistic mastery."

When you combine all that, with the man's refusal of a national award (twice!) from Nigerian governments he considered to be inept and corrupt, then nothing extra is necessary or warranted to solidify the legacy of this Iroko of a man.

RIP sir!

Things will not Fall Apart!

I always reflect that the singular most significant thing my parents ever did in my life, was to send me to a diverse secondary school. Okay, I was the one who passed the exams (with flying colours of course!), but they could have chosen not to let me enjoy those laid back boarding schools days. Having said that though, my appreciation is not propelled by the amount of fun I had in secondary school, rather, it is borne in the fact that for the first time in my relatively short life, I was surrounded by members of every ethnic group Nigeia could muster.

I found myself in the laboratory of life where your conclusions are not shaped by the slightly askew uncle, brother, mother or father, but by cold, clear and clinical evidence, gathered by everyday living and rubbing shoulders with people who made up my majestic country.

As is the case all over Africa, I was brought up in a household where my elders innocently and casually made 'politically incorrect' statements about everyone who spoke a language separate from ours. The Hausas were uneducated dunces, the Igbos could not be trusted and the average Mid-westerner was steeped in an ancestry of armed robbery. We, the Yorubas, as you would expect were perfect, but suffered from being apparently held back by our parasitical tribal neighbours. Nothing was ever our fault and Nigerian history, at least through our myopic eyes showed how we never took the wrong turn....yeah...right! Anyway, back to my school.

FGCL as we fondly called it, was one hell of a melting pot. In the year of 77, we had students from every state of the country. Yes, all 19 states! I was surrounded with the likes of Emeka Chikelu, Odaro Omonuwa, John Kpanabo, Emmanuel Madaki, Winston Onoja, and so on and so forth. For the first time, I could make up my mind on what traits 'other' Nigerians had, without the unrequested colourful advice which my kinsmen were always quick to provide. It was an eye-opening experience!

The Hausas turned out to be quite clever people with a penchant for hanging together and keeping their unit very tight. The Igbos were wiser than their young ages and always did well in school, also, they never broke their word and always had your back. The folks from Bendel were honest, intelligent, dogged and extremely sociable. I was living in the real Project Nigeria and all the tribal negativity was not holding up. All I found were fellow students sharing stories of how their folks had also fed them tales of the conceited Yorubas, who were never to be trusted. It all began to sound like a broken record!

Here's the thing......there are no reasons for Nigerian ethnic groups to hate each other, nor do they have any evidence to remain disunited and at each other's necks. The British have left now and the colonial days of 'divide and rule' are long gone(see their map above). The Yorubas should not condemn the Igbos as money loving Jews who can kill their relatives for money, the Igbos should desist from that age old campaign of blaming the Yorubas for their unsuccessful bid for seccession and the Hausas should not be complaining, full stop. Without sounding like an Obama clone, we all should realise that together, rather than apart, is where our strength lies.

It is time to erase the false lines we have drawn around ourselves and begin to see the potential in working for the same thing. If an Igbo president is to emerge by 2015 (that's my prediction), then Igbos have to embrace the Yoruba and Hausas, without whom that eventuality will never see the light of day. We all have to work towards that unity, so we can have a reversal of the wonderful poem that graces the beginning of Chinua Achebe's classic;

'The falcon will hear the falconer.
Things will not fall apart, the centre will hold.
Mere Anarchy will not be loose upon the world.'

Some might call me a dreamer, but did you ever for one minute think we would one day  have a black man at 1600 Pennsylvania? Well then...