Two years ago to this day, you
brought me to tears.
You were in our nation’s capital,
being inaugurated as the first Nigerian in our nation’s history to win the
presidency from an opposition party. I was far away, in Lagos; but I had a
cherished privilege: to be the one to publish the very first tweet on your
account as President of the Federal of Nigeria.
And as my colleague, Oluwatobi
Soyombo watched, I threw my head back on the chair, and I began to weep.
I couldn’t help myself. This
moment was too big, was too strong; was too much.
They were tears of joy. But they
were also tears of relief, personal and collective. Personal relief from the
fear of the consequences of my decision – after having readied myself for four
years of repercussion for supporting so publicly a man who was hardly likely to
win; collective relief that we would not be facing four more years of the
triumphal leadership of the corrupt and the reprobate; relief that we had just
dodged a bullet.
Barely six months before I had
never met you, never stayed in the same space you, didn’t even believe in you.
The one thing I knew was that, for this young man, it was anybody but Goodluck
Jonathan. But then you filled me with such hope, because you appeared to
finally carry on your shoulders the burdens of an exhausted, furious
generation.
I was as furious as anyone.
Actually, I was more furious than most. Furious enough to burn bridges, risk
backlash, annoy friends and family; to cross the divide to vote and work
passionately for a man I had voted for reluctantly, even bitterly, only four
years before.
It was like a miracle. I never
believed this was going to happen. I never believed an opposition leader could
win an election in our country; I never believed that citizens could make this
change happen in my lifetime.
It was so hard to believe that I
continued to argue with my team, right up to time that the incumbent president
conceded. Our data already projected your win, but I refused to be seduced,
memories of Karl Rove making a fool of himself on Fox News over a quixotic Mitt
Romney win in 2012 haunting me. “Push all the votes from the South-East and the
South-South to Jonathan’s column,” I said to my colleague Joachim MacEbong.
“Assume Buhari gets zero votes there. What we have now is too deceptive. An
opposition candidate can’t win with such a margin.”
I couldn’t believe it, until it
happened. Some days, even now, I wake up and I almost still can’t believe it.
From 2010, when I became active
in civic spaces, this had been the dream: to have a citizen-led movement that
could put the fear of God into the political establishment.
I had spent days on the streets,
in protest, at risk to life and business. I had sat in countless meetings and
strategy sessions. I had spent millions of my own money invested in this
vision. I had spent time in private and group prayer, shouting in pain, sobbing
in frustration, crying out for all of this to not be for nothing, for some
intervention, for some sign from God that our country would be better, even in
our lifetimes. I didn’t believe it could be this dramatic, I didn’t believe it
could come to pass.
But it did. And when it did, it
was enough to overturn my theology of God’s agenda for politics. Because it
certainly felt like an answer to our prayers. It certainly felt like divine
intervention. It absolutely felt like the heavens had heard Nigeria’s heart
cry. It had to be. This was a miracle. You were a miracle. You were a change,
desperately sought. A change, desperately won.
But it wasn’t really about you,
Mr. President. This was never about you.
You were a symbol of our
aspiration, you were an expression of a democratic ideal: that the citizen is
the most powerful force in any democracy. You were a symbol that we mattered,
that our voices mattered. That if we organized, we could defeat powerful
forces. That if we came together, nothing was truly beyond our grasp, no
possibility beyond the reach of a determined population. That we, truly, are
the ones that we have been waiting for.
For me, after 10 years of nation
building aspirations and five years of activist engagement, you presented the
unique opportunity for to all come together. For the networks, and the
platforms and the reputation and the skills and the creativity that I had to
come to a head, to join the effort to make change happen. And there were many
Nigerians who took that risk also, because we saw a ray of sunlight.
We thought this was worth the
risk. This had to be worth the risk.
The many people who worked
incredibly hard to get you into office, but then stayed aside and asked for no
benefit in return thought it was worth that risk. It was the reason I said no
to an offer to join this administration in its first two years, same as many
that I know. We couldn’t dare corrupt this one sacrifice – this gift – with the
appearance of self-interest.
But it’s not just about those who
can afford to keep their distance. It’s more about the many whom your
inchoate policies hurt the most the people you told us you were
running for.
Remember that woman who wrapped
up her entire savings and donated to your campaign? Do you remember her, sir?
What would you say to her, if you
saw her today?
I write this today because I
don’t know what happens next.
I don’t know if you are well, or
how well you are. You haven’t treated us, your citizens, your voters, with the
respect of telling us what ails you, how it ails you and how it affects your
ability to do your job. Instead you treat us with the scorn and contempt that
Aso Rock seems to breed – the contempt of silence.
Look at the nation you left
behind, as you duck for cover in the United Kingdom: Healthcare so shabby even
you can’t rely on it for your own well being. Schools still exactly in the
state at which you met them 24 months ago. An economy in shambles. An
anti-corruption fight running around in circles. A nation fragmented, with the
one time since the 1960s where Biafra has become a dominant narrative –
courtesy of tone-deaf ethnic-coloured politics. Businesses attacked by a
combination of violent tax authorities and ham-fisted fiscal policies, which
seem to punish citizens for the failings of past governments and inadequacies
of this one. Indeed, the anecdotal stories of businesses folded up, investments
dried up jobs lost and dreams shattered have become the defining testimony of
your leadership.
You have taken the hopes and the
dreams and the faith that we invested in you, and you have shattered them into
many tiny pieces.
Is this fair? Is this right? Is
this why you ran? Is this what those four attempts were about? Is this the plan
you had? Is this the vision you shared? Is this what this was all about – just
being president?
It is easy for us to hide under
the shadow of your acting president, Yemi Osinbajo, who makes it easy to prove
citizens right, that we made the proper choice to vote for change and to upset
the old system in 2015. It is convenient to turn to him as justification for
our wisdom.
But the truth is that, for me, it
isn’t. You are the man with the mandate. You are the man with the ultimate
responsibility.
To be honest, there is no regret
in voting for you. Even if everything failed, even if your acting president had
been a failure, there would be no regret in voting for you.
We had a choice between the devil
and the deep blue sea. As it turns out, we chose the deep blue sea.
If that time came again, I would
make no other choice, even with everything I know now. With everything I have,
and everything I believe and everything I hold dear, I am passionate about the
fact that, despite the disappointment you have presented to us, voting what you
represented for president was a crucial step in re-making Nigeria, in the long
term.
I just wish you had made it
easier, with your performance, with visionary leadership, with actions and
decisions, to justify that choice. I wish we could point to the short term as
well as the long term as the vindication of that choice. I wish you had risen
up to the occasion, Mr. President.
Yes, you care for Nigeria. I know
that. Or at least I think I do. But that doesn’t matter. It’s neither here nor
there. Love is not just something you say, love is something you do. And there
is no evidence, today, of your love.
We didn’t vote for you to try
your best; we didn’t vote for you to complain to no end, no. We voted for you
to make change happen.
And no matter what your remaining
rabid supporters, either blinded still by anger at Dr. Jonathan, blinded by the
comfort of denial or blinded by proximity to power, say, this is the truth: we
are disappointed in you. This is not the change we voted for.
Of course, there is still a year
to make it happen before the politicking fully kicks in, but not today.
Instead, disappointment, shame,
sadness – that has become your legacy.
And it breaks my heart sir.
It breaks so many hearts, home
and abroad. Those who believed passionately in you. Those who didn’t believe
but decided to give you a chance. Those who couldn’t bring themselves to vote
for you but still celebrated the possibility of change. Those who rolled the
dice and hoped for the best.
Your performance, your failings,
the ineptitude, it has severely broken their hearts. It has severely broken my
heart.
I sincerely hope, in your quiet
moments of truth, that it breaks your heart too.
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Wooow this is deep... This man summarized my thoughts. 100% on point
ReplyDeleteChude, I can attest to some of your sacrifice and you are so on point. It's time to really really have a God driven change. I hope that will come soon.
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ReplyDeleteChude, thank you for this piece. I'm moved to tears reading this. Like you, I chose to vote and project PMB even to the consternation of family and friends, but see where we are today? We were really between the devil and the deep blue sea, but sadly the deep blue sea today has made the devil look better. I cry so deeply for hope betrayed, an incredible opportunity lost!
ReplyDeleteChude Jideonwo and Ohioze Obaseki, I have no comment: you have both said it ALL.
ReplyDeleteChude you were overly emotional just like most other people. For me it has never been about the individual at the helm of affairs. The entire system needs overhauling.
ReplyDeleteLanre, i understand your approach but yesterday, now or in the future it would still fall on individuals to overhaul the system irrespective of how much they hold their emotions. The overhaul of the system would not happen by accident and the system CAN NOT overhaul itself but individuals, rallying around a leader figure, can.
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