A while ago, Mujahid Asari-Dokubo’s
visceral defence of the Jonathan regime against all real and perceived
enemies left many observers bewildered. Is this not the same individual,
it was widely asked, who had made a name for himself by his charismatic
leadership of the Niger Delta People’s Volunteer Force and vocal
enunciation of the cause of Nigeria’s oil-producing riverine minorities?
How did Asari metamorphose from a feared Mohammedan of the creeks
(complete with the elaborate head gear) to a megaphone of state power?
This is the question I propose to answer here, and my very simple thesis
is that to track Asari’s movement from the swamps to the corridors of
the state is to apprehend a sociological dynamic: the particular mode by
which social agents gain entry into the domain of the state, via, in
this specific case, the instrumentality of violence.
Analytically, there are two immediate
targets. One is Asari himself, particularly the gradual but symbolic
evolution in his personal profile and self-presentation over time.
Second, there is the theme of violence, its effectivity as a means of
negotiating access to material resources and social certification as a
member of the political elite.
For a proper appreciation of this
dynamic, in particular the latter idea of the social utilisation of
banditry, it is important to understand, first, an idea captured here as
“violence entrepreneurship.” As a framework, violence entrepreneurship
avoids otherwise legitimate questions like, for instance, how endemic
insecurity threatens the short-term stability and long-term existence of
the Nigerian state. Instead, it prioritises the need to make violence
coherent as a political phenomenon, meaning that the most ostensibly
unrelated acts of violence are understood and made meaningful solely in
relation to politics and the dominant ethos of the political order — and
not just the current political regime — in Nigeria. For example, the
unusual spate of carjacking and violent armed robbery, the festering
hostage-taking industry, prohibitive auto-mortality, the insurgency in
the northern half of the country, resource militancy in the oil
producing region, and sundry examples of routine violence, all become
perfectly explicable as effects of politics and political choices.
Second, the notion of violence
entrepreneurship demands that violence be seen as an agential strategy; a
currency of exchange between the state and agents within civil society.
One implication (and Asari’s ongoing political evolution is a great
illustration) is that even when the violence deployed is visceral, and
the rhetoric of threatened exit from the state is prohibitive and
inflationary, ultimately, violence tends to function as a means of
negotiating access. Access, of course, can be understood in various
ways, but my basic concern here is to show how violence entrepreneurs
enter into and become part of the orbit of the state. In this regard,
particular attention must be given to how such entrepreneurs attain
ethical equilibrium with state officials, eventually assuming the moral
and material paraphernalia of the state. When examined carefully, it
becomes evident that this is the sociological trajectory that Asari has
assumed.
This is not to say that the productivity
of violence is always one-sided. Historically, the Nigerian state too
has functionalised violence in various ways. One well-worn modality is
through the development of relations of patronage between state
functionaries and political godfathers, many of whom are often
surrounded by thugs and other individuals with a history of difficult
relations with the law. Think here of the showdown between Rasheed
Ladoja and the late Lamidi Adedibu in Oyo State on the one hand, and
that between Peter Obi and Chris Uba in Anambra State on the other.
Following the same logic, the state can use the prevalence of violence
in a particular region of the country to leverage both resources and
moral sympathy from various international agents, a good example being
the mobilisation of external resources to fund the pacification of civil
unrest in the Niger Delta. Last but not the least, the state has been
known to surreptitiously develop its own extrajudicial killer squads,
either as an alternative to, but in most cases in simultaneous existence
with, regular apparatuses of violence authorised by the law. Here,
think of revelations early in the year concerning the alleged use of
killer platoons by the Obasanjo regime; and Sergeant Rogers’ credulous
testimony that the late Gen. Sani Abacha actively maintained a killer
squad and that it, i.e. the squad, was responsible for the murder of
Kudirat Abiola.
Be that as it may, the key point to be
emphasised is the structure of engagement between the state and armed
militias, and the main idea I am trying to develop is how, in the long
run, the threat or actual deployment of violence, one, transforms the
relationship between the state and armed militias, and two, tends to
eventuate in the incorporation of leaders of such militias into the
orbit of the state. Mujahid Asari-Dokubo (and the Odu’a People’s
Congress’s Gani Adams no less) is a perfect encapsulation of this logic,
precisely in his sheer transformation from radical revolutionary and
purveyor of violence, to a more or less bona fide member of the state
nobility, complete, as I claimed earlier, with all the conceits and
appurtenances of the Nigerian political class.
Now, this is a very complex process, and
yes, the last chapters have yet to be written. Nevertheless, certain
details in Asari’s transformation seem instructive for my analysis.
First is his (Asari’s) emergence from a proper order of injustice: the
crisis of oil exploitation in the Niger Delta. Second is his astute
reading of the social mood and readiness to capitalise on a glaring
leadership vacuum. Here, you have to go back to the hanging of Ken
Saro-Wiwa in November 1995 by the Abacha regime, the emasculation of the
Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People, and the overall
tranquilisation of opposition throughout the region. Finally, there is
his personal rebranding and self re-presentation. For instance, the
distinctly Islamic turban has been jettisoned, though the bushy beard
(part Mohammedan, part Che Guevara) is still in place. Furthermore,
although there is a notional forswearing of violence, this is
strategically counterbalanced by frequent threats to “return to the
creeks”, as seen in the example with which I began this piece.
Finally, there is of course the
desperation to undo the obvious disadvantages of class cum educational
cum professional pedigree, often through regular appearance in social
circuits (weddings, burial ceremonies, etc). In short, there is an
enactment of the whole “Big Man” repertoire, complete, it goes without
saying, with personal channels of patronage. The Dr. or Chief prefix is
just a matter of time.
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All of you so call freedom fighters, social crusader, society crusaders etc and the writer of this piece are nothing but oppurtunist looking for cheap publicity. When offered a mill of portage the story changes. Rubbish people
ReplyDeleteIs this all you hav to say? Shame on you. You ar a complete disapointment to your lineage
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