On 10 November 1995, the Nigerian military regime, under General Sani Abacha, hanged Ken Saro-Wiwa, the writer and minority rights activist, and eight other members of the Movement for the Survival of Ogoni People (MOSOP) after a judicially flawed trail.

The hangings were a critical event for the Nigerian junta and for Royal Dutch/Shell, the major international oil company operating in Nigeria’s Niger delta, which played a key role in shaping the Ogoni tragedy. When Citizens Revolt re-examines the evidence concerning the Ogoni struggle for self-determination and raises questions about its origins and implications as a case study of the emergence and persistence of ethnic identities and the communal politics they engender in postcolonial Africa.

Ike Okonta disagrees with the arguments of such leading Africa scholars as Mahmood Mamdani and Donald Horowitz regarding the provenance and dynamics of ethnic politics on the continent and submits that ethnicity is not necessarily antithetical to democracy, and indeed that it may be a necessary aspect of democratic citizenship in multiethnic states like Nigeria and elsewhere in Africa. The Ogoni story, he contends, is the classic case of a people, who in order to secure their civic rights as citizens in a state increasingly resorting to rapine despotism, became “tribesmen” in their struggle to become citizens.

Africa World Press, Inc. & The Red Sea Press, Inc. 2007

If Nigeria successfully holds local and federal elections on 14 and 21 April, it will be the first time that an elected civilian government will hand power over to another. Will the elections hold? Will clear winners emerge? Will alleged losers accept their defeat with good grace, actuated by the larger national interest? Ike Okonta places Nigeria’s forthcoming elections in historical and political context.

Given the country’s turbulent political history, the choice confronting Nigerians in these difficult times is between democracy and national disintegration. Some analysts would like to add a third into the mix: a military coup d’etat. But I have firmly ruled this out. Ambitious officers might well attempt a takeover, but Nigerians’ current deep aversion to military rule will see to it that they will not last in office.

In times past the army always stepped into the breach when the politicians failed to abide by the rules of the game, using the coup to truncate the party-political process, abolish the constitution, and govern the country from their barracks. The armed forces had a modicum of respectability in the 1970s, fresh from a bitter civil war. They were viewed – at least in the western and northern parts of the country – as the nation’s saviour.

But the Babangida and Abacha regimes (1985-1998) exploded the myth of the Nigerian military as guarantors of peace and drivers of national progress. The campaign for democratic rule that seeded in the late 1980s was deeply-rooted, popular and enduring for the simple reason that ordinary Nigerians had by this time seen through the mask of the soldiers. Now they clearly recognised that their very survival depended on them winning back the right to govern themselves or elect their representatives as they saw fit.

Ordinary Nigerians are still struggling to consolidate the democratic government they won at such high cost in 1999 when their protests finally forced the General Abubakar-led junta to hold elections. It is not likely that they will tolerate another military adventurer, no matter how well-meaning, in the corridors of power.

If the mass of Nigerians prefer to live in a united country rather than go their separate ways – and all available research points to the former – and if they are firmly set against renewed military rule – as indeed they have – then it stands to reason to argue that they will work strenuously to ensure that the elections are duly held.

After all, multi-ethnic nations are best held together by dialogue and consensus. They will also likely engage the electoral process with great care knowing as they do now that inconclusive or chaotic elections could throw Nigeria on to the path of disintegration along the ever present fault-lines of religion and narrow ethnic nationalism.

They will want the elections to be peaceful, transparent and the results fair and credible. They will want the victors to demonstrate humility in their triumph, and the losers to accept that democratic elections are not a one-off event but an on-going process, holding out the hope of their own triumph in the next electoral round. Above all, Nigerians will want the out-going Obasanjo government to display statesmanship; and with an eye on history, to ensure that all conceivable obstacles to a smooth transfer of power to its successor are removed.

All evidence supports the contention that the majority of Nigerians are working hard to achieve this outcome. But there are also worrying signs on democracy’s road, as the country approaches the elections. Some of these danger signals are born of residual structural problems in the polity; the rest are largely attitudinal, driven by the personal quirks of certain political actors. It is important that we highlight these danger signs, separate those that can be remedied from the intractable, and urge well-meaning Nigerian political actors to channel their energies towards those that can be remedied. The point of political diagnosis is to identify and remove elements that impede the healthy functioning of the polity.

Three danger signs

Nigeria’s current political regime is a very young electoral system struggling to achieve democratic consolidation. Thirty years of military rule foisted a culture of impunity, authoritarianism, and disempowered citizenship on the people. The vital institutions that support representative government – a free and robust press, an independent and impartial judiciary, and political parties driven by policy issues and buoyed up by a freely associating and enlightened citizenry – that began to emerge in the 1940s when the struggle for independence really commenced, were stifled following the first military coup in January 1966.

Efforts of progressive politicians and civil society leaders since the end of the civil war in January 1970 have been directed largely towards winning back the open civic space in which these crucial institutions can thrive and prosper again. The Second Republic of 1979-1983 was too short a period for these supportive institutions of representative rule to re-embed in the wider society. Generals Babangida and Abacha’s unrelenting and all-encompassing attacks on the civic-political space killed off the tender shoots that began to bud during that brief spring. In a real sense therefore, the advent of the Third Republic in 1999, for all its imperfections, offered the first real opportunity, after the demise of the First Republic in 1966 and the bloody civil war which followed in its wake eighteen months later, for the institutional ramparts of democratic government to take root again.

This is the reason why Nigerians will go into the April 2007 elections without the benefit of real political parties and politicians to represent their views and interests. The Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), the ruling party, has since 1998 when it came into being, transformed into a bloated, vote-rigging machine intolerant of opposition within or from rival parties. Run along highly authoritarian lines and dependent on the president for funds and policy, the PDP has been reduced to a branch of the government. The latter is also subject to the whims and commands of President Obasanjo.

The leading opposition parties – All Nigeria Peoples Party (ANPP) and Action Congress (AC) - are run along more consensual lines. But they are hampered by a lack of experienced and trained personnel; a narrow and opportunistic membership base; perennial shortage of funds; and a domineering presidency which has not hesitated to use government largesse and paid agents provocateurs to undermine them.

The judiciary, after the battering it endured at the hands of the soldiers, is still struggling to find a credible role for itself in the new civilian dispensation. The Nigerian press is fiercely combative and fearless, but journalists are yet to make the transition from being guerrillas fighting off military dictatorship to cool-headed analysts nudging politicians and public discourse towards policy issues.

To correct these structural problems will require time and a great deal of political skill. Because they will endure into the coming 2007 electoral cycle, the gaps they will open up in the political system could be exploited by a ruling party anxious to retain power at the centre and in the states. Having rigged the 1999 and 2003 elections with impunity, the PDP will be sorely tempted to enact a repeat performance this April, taking advantage of the weakened opposition, a cowed judiciary, and a still tactically-challenged press. This is the first danger sign on the road to the elections.

Whilst Olusegun Obasanjo is still the head of the federal government, he is no longer in power. This might sound paradoxical; but the architecture of power in Nigeria is as multilayered as it is complex. Obasanjo rose to prominence in the Nigerian armed forces in the late 1960s riding on the coat tails of the northern coup-makers of July 1966, most notably General Yakubu Danjuma.

Burdened with his close friendship with Major Chukwuma Kaduna Nzeogwu, leader of the abortive January 1966 putsch in the north, and with his own role in that event still shrouded in mystery, Obasanjo had necessarily to demonstrate his loyalty to the new power elite – led by Col. Yakubu Gowon, Col. Murtala Muhammed, and Major Danjuma. It was on the rump of this group that he relied when Muhammed was assassinated in February 1976, after he had replaced Gowon as head of state the previous year and he (Obasanjo) was asked to step into the breach. He reigned; but real power lay with chief of army staff General Danjuma and chief of staff, supreme headquarters, General Shehu Yar’Adua. Obasanjo’s pay-back was his strident defence of ‘Nigerian unity’; and along with this, a pro-northern political stance when the time came to hand over power to politicians in 1979.

This pact, forged in the turbulent period of military rule in the 1970s, was to be replayed in 1999 when the northern military and political elite, reeling from attacks from pro-democracy elements in the wake of General Babangida and Abacha’s excesses, looked for a safe pair of hands to cede power. This was meant to be a tactical manoeuvre, designed to placate frayed nerves in the progressive camp in southern Nigeria. Babangida, acting on behalf of a loose coalition of northern elites, though by no means all northern interests, again sought out Obasanjo and finessed the politics that took him to Abuja as President in May 1999.

Throughout his military and later political career, Obasanjo never took any risks that could put his life or career on the line. He was content to let others take the risks, including dangerous military putsch. He would emerge from the shadow when the gun smoke had cleared and scout for rich pickings. Obasanjo’s sole attempt to make a bid for real power on his own behalf was the ill-fated attempt to get his minions in the PDP to tinker with the constitution that he might stay on as President beyond the two terms stipulated by the constitution. The powerful coalition of Babangida, Danjuma, and Vice President Atiku Abubakar – all northerners - united with pro-democracy elements in the press and civil society and promptly slapped down Obasanjo in May 2006.

That episode, more than anything else, demonstrated where real power in Nigeria lay. It also pointed to Obasanjo’s fragile position in the country’s nascent democratic game. He would, ideally, like to retire as a king-maker now that he can no longer extend his stay in office. But he has never had a secure power base to call his own: neither in the armed forces; nor in his Yoruba region home where he is distrusted by a populace who still see him as a northern ‘stooge’; nor in civil society; nor amongst the intelligentsia who regard him with a mix of loathing and disdain.

Nevertheless, Obasanjo has made it clear that come April he is determined to steamroll his chosen presidential candidate, Umar Yar’Adua, younger brother of the late Shehu Yar’Adua, into State House. The northern political elite is equally determined to demonstrate that Obasanjo has neither the right nor the political clout to appoint a new political leader for them. They see the April polls as the proving ground.

Obasanjo and his unpopular party will go into the elections with the full backing of the PDP state governors who are anxious to ensure continuity and thus shield themselves from later prosecution for corrupt enrichment and a supine police force with armed elements drawn from the army and paid thugs that Nigerian cities now have in abundance. This group will have to confront a vengeful Northern elite and their allies in the south, grouped around General Muhammadu Buhari, presidential candidate of the ANPP, and Atiku Abubakar, Obasanjo’s vice president, whose bid for the top job under the Action Congress is still under a cloud.

Were the supporting institutions of Nigeria’s young democracy autonomous and functioning, all eyes would have turned to the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) and the courts to ensure free and credible polls; thus removing the prospect of a free for all between these two bitterly opposed political factions. But INEC, following its recent pronouncement banning Vice President Abubakar, a noted critic of Obasanjo, from contesting the presidential election even though the electoral act does not accord it such power, has demonstrated that it is an interested party, on the side of President Obasanjo and the PDP government.

The Buhari and Atiku groups have stated that they view INEC as a partial entity that will work on Obasanjo’s behalf during the elections. This means that they will put into place their own independent machinery to police the electoral process and ensure that neither the INEC nor PDP’s agents rig the polls. Obasanjo, who was recently quoted in the press as saying that the election would be a ‘do or die’ affair for him will be expected to use the machinery and financial resources of the government to ensure that his will prevails. The inevitable clash between these juggernauts will reverberate in wider Nigerian political and civil society, already stretched to breaking point. This is the second danger sign on Nigeria’s democracy road.

Then there is a third danger sign, as ominous as the first two. This is the international politics of oil and the extent to which the major oil-consuming nations in Western Europe and North America seeking to secure their strategic interests will attempt to shape the political outcome in Nigeria to their advantage. At the heart of this realpolitik is the growing armed insurrection in the Niger Delta, fed and sustained by five decades of economic exploitation and political marginalisation that the local communities have suffered at such terrible cost.

The United States and the European Union backed the Obasanjo government in 1999 and again in 2003 even though there was abundant evidence that those elections had been marked by rigging and violence. Obasanjo was seen as friendly to their interests. He was also seen as a competent general who could be counted on to rein in the youth activists in the Delta region and ensure that Western oil companies continue to extract oil undisturbed.

Local democracy and corporate social responsibility were thus sacrificed for cheap oil. This democratic deficit is at the heart of the present crisis in the Niger Delta. Continued backing for Obasanjo’s political agenda in April will certainly escalate this crisis, which in turn could spill out into other regions of the country igniting a political cyclone.

These then are the three major danger signs on the road to the April general elections. So far, ordinary Nigerians in their millions have remained spectators in this great game, even as their economic and social condition continues to deteriorate. They are waiting anxiously for the April elections to settle accounts with those whom they see as having betrayed them, leaving them worse off than they were in 1999. If they are denied their day in the voting booth, the three danger signs will meld with popular anger and frustration. There is no knowing whether Nigeria will still be there on the map when the storm settles.

Alternatively, Nigeria’s ruling elites can elect to head off this storm by insisting on fair elections. But how might the end game play out?

Endgame of a defeated General

President Olusegun Obasanjo will quit power in May. There is no getting around it. The current power constellation is firmly against him despite his strenuous efforts since he assumed office in 1999 to build an independent power base of his own. The question now is the manner of Obasanjo’s going, and how to ensure that Nigeria as a corporate entity remains after the storm has quietened.

Forecasting the ramifications of Nigeria’s coming general elections is now a booming industry in the United States and Western Europe. These forecasts and analyses run the gamut from the sober to the downright loony. Most centre on the rising armed conflict in the oil-bearing Niger Delta, and how the elections might likely impact the flow of oil to the Western countries.

But for Nigerians and other Africans, the stakes are higher. A conflict-ridden Nigeria in the wake of inconclusive or rigged elections will trigger powerful waves of chaos and anarchy throughout West Africa, suspend the ambitions of ECOWAS to transform the region into a belt of economic prosperity, and open up west and central Africa to natural resource hunters intent on fomenting war and pave the way for easy pickings.

It is therefore important that Nigerian political thinkers step out to combat the muddled, self-serving analyses of those who have put themselves forward as ‘interpreters’ of political trends in their country. Indeed, they are challenged to articulate a clear road map to fair, peaceful and conclusive elections: to an electoral outcome that will provide a framework in which the task of repairing the damage Obasanjo and his lieutenants have wrought these past eight years can commence.

The Washington based Eurasia Group had this to say about the coming elections: ‘An election delay and the constitutional crisis which will likely follow could tempt the country’s military and influential ex-military establishment – which ruled Nigeria for four decades – to consider re-entering politics...Obasanjo’s relationship with key figures within the ex-military establishment, such as former head of state General Ibrahim Babangida, former long-time National Security Adviser Mohammed Gusau and former Defense Minister Theophilus Danjuma, is currently strained. In any political crisis it is not clear that these powerful figures, and many others within the ex-military establishment, would back Obasanjo rather than someone else to replace him.’

Underpinning this controversial analysis is nostalgia for a return to military rule in Nigeria. This nostalgia is to be found mainly in neoconservative political and business circles in Europe and the United States whose favourite business model in Africa is using corrupt dictators to repress the ordinary people, thus paving the way for them to pillage the continent’s natural resources undisturbed. General Ibrahim Babangida, Mobutu Sese Seko and others of their ilk were feted in London and Paris and Washington for precisely this reason. There are many in the power corridors of these three cities that still yearn for the return of the ‘good old days’ of Babangida in Nigeria.

While it is true that the likes of Babangida and Danjuma are still powerful, due to the stupendous wealth they illegally amassed following the end of the Nigerian civil war in 1970, it would be a mistake to see power as influence in the country today. The generals have virtually no political influence in a country where the ordinary people view soldiers with a mix of contempt and loathing, and are determined to protect the right to vote they won back in 1999. Obasanjo was able to deny Babangida and Gusau the presidential ticket of the Peoples Democratic Party not because he himself is powerful, but because he was canny enough to recognise that Nigerians would not shed a tear for Babangida and Gusau when they were fed with a dose of their own medicine.

Likewise, Babangida, working in partnership with Vice President Atiku Abubakar, was able to frustrate Obasanjo’s plot to remain in office. Not because Babangida himself is overwhelmingly politically influential, but because he too recognised that the majority of Nigerians detest the President’s authoritarian pretensions and want to see the back of him in May 2007. Babangida tapped into this powerful current and Obasanjo’s third term ambitions bit the dust.

What the foregoing tells us clearly is that ordinary Nigerians and their desire for representative and accountable government are now firmly in the saddle and will ultimately determine the direction in which the country will go in May – democratic rule or a return to dictatorship. The wind, I hazard to say, is blowing in the direction of democratic consolidation.

The prospects of a successful military coup in the wake of chaotic elections this April are not very bright. It does not even register on the political radar of the Nigerian street. Nor are there signs among the rank and file in the armed forces that they are yet again beginning to see themselves as the nation’s saviour. The army’s sense of self-worth took a battering in the 1990s as Babangida and his successor General Sani Abacha systematically destroyed all hopes of social and economic progress in the country. Ordinary soldiers, who were deployed in the cities to shoot and maim democracy activists, and students have since those tragic events been lumped together with their commanders as destroyers of the nation. This unflattering image, still powerful and enduring, is one which officers and the other ranks are yet to live down.

We are thus left with a charged political arena in which the ex-military gladiators will have to slug it out among themselves, while an impoverished populace look on from the sideline, waiting for yet another breach in the rampart to claw back more of their purloined freedom. Olusegun Obasanjo had an easy ride in 1979 when, as military head of state, he worked in concert with his fellow generals to shape the general elections and handed power to their preferred candidate. Indeed, Obasanjo had declared a few months before those elections that victory would not necessarily go to the most qualified candidate, a clear indication that the likes of Malam Aminu Kanu, Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe and Chief Obafemi Awolowo, still widely venerated in the country, would not be allowed to take power.

Shehu Shagari, presidential candidate of the National Party of Nigeria, was the least qualified in a field bristling with intellectual and political giants, tempered and burnished in the furnace of the independence struggles of the 1940s and 1950s. Obasanjo, notorious for his envy of intellectuals and political figures more accomplished than himself, chose to put personal interest above the national imperative of supporting a politician and statesman able to guide Nigeria seamlessly from unaccountable military rule to a democracy delivering the essentials of life to a still hopeful and expectant populace.

The depredations of the Shagari years and punitive IMF-sanctioned structural adjustment, shortly after the return of military dictatorship, were Obasanjo’s parting gift to Nigerians in September 1979. The present challenge, insist Nigerian democratic activists, is to ensure that he will not have the opportunity to give the people a similar gift this coming May.

‘Popular’ political analysis led by the BBC presents Umar Yar’Adua, presidential candidate of the PDP, as the favourite to win the election. The argument is that a candidate has to have an enormous war chest and a powerful election-rigging machine – which the Obasanjo government has in abundance - to win. This analysis not only forecloses the democratic option - i.e. the choice of the majority of ordinary Nigerians freely expressed in the polling booth - it also subtly encourages the belief that there will be no credible challenge to the PDP machine this April.

This, then, is the area in which Nigerian democrats have been channelling their energies: to prove that free elections, without which any talk of democratic government is just much hot air, are possible in Nigeria. They are also looking ahead. In the eventuality that they are unable to ensure free elections, they plan to make the cost of rigging so expensive that the perpetrators will be forced into an untenable position, making it impossible for them to form a government.

Obasanjo’s critics say the PDP government can only point to an abysmal record in office these eight years. The fundamental challenges that confronted Nigerian state and society in May 1999 are still staring Nigerians in the face: a new constitution that addresses the terms of association between the federating units and thus ensures political order; a home-grown economic strategy capable of tackling the scourge of mass unemployment and deepening poverty; and a social compact led by a visionary political elite restoring hope and love of country in a battered and increasingly cynical populace.

PDP candidates cannot therefore rely on their ‘performance’ in office to win the argument on the campaign ground. True, the campaign strategies of the other presidential candidates have been rather short on concrete alternative policies – the exception being Prof. Pat Utomi, presidential candidate of the African Democratic Party (ADP), and to a lesser extent, General Muhammadu Buhari of the ANPP. But these two candidates are in a powerful position to reap bountifully from the widespread distrust of the PDP and its politics of plunder and incompetence. In a free and fair context, Buhari and Utomi could easily emerge as hot favourites for president. The task, say those desirous of easing the PDP out of office, is to build a nation-wide coalition of vote-watchers capable of counting the vote and making the vote count.

Power at all costs?

The Obasanjo government has fired the first salvo in its ‘war’ to retain power at all costs. All manner of obstacles, including police harassment, were put in the path of Buhari’s campaign team as they went about canvassing votes in the northern part of the country in March. Desperate PDP officials, faced with the awful prospect of a long Harmattan out of government, and being made to account for the billions of dollars they frittered away on the altar of corruption and indolence, are likely to resort to even worse tactics as the electoral battle is joined.

Advocates of political liberty and fair play at the polls are preparing themselves for the bruising context ahead. They argue that given past performance, it would be foolhardy, even suicidal, to look to the Independent National Electoral Commission to conduct fair elections, and the police to maintain order. Recent actions and pronouncements of ranking INEC officials have made it clear that they are riding on Obasanjo’s PDP wagon. The use of the police to prevent rival politicians from campaigning is also a signpost pointing to close PDP-police collaboration during the elections.

Political parties working to replace the PDP government are increasingly looking elsewhere for countervailing civic machinery able to secure peaceful and orderly elections. Faith leaders, the independent media, labour unions, women’s organisations, ethnic associations and town unions, progressive student groups and democracy activists, among other non-violent civic organisations, are being actively courted, mobilised, and empowered to perform this function.

But they also recognise that it is not enough to focus only on policing the vote on election day. Leaders of these political parties and their allies in civil society say they are already thinking ahead and have factored in the possibility that their forces could be overwhelmed by the PDP juggernaut, as the vote tally stacks up against them. If that day comes, they could borrow a leaf from the recent elections in Mexico and peacefully mobilise their followers and sundry Nigerians desirous of fair elections to demand a recount or another round of elections.

They have also put the National Assembly and the judiciary on notice, for these institutions to stand ready to do their duty if the government in power proves beyond reasonable doubt that it is no longer capable of governing a fair and orderly transfer of power. There are strong speculations in the media that pressure could be brought to bear on Ken Nnamani, President of the Senate and third in line as President, to commence impeachment proceedings against Obasanjo and Vice President Abubakar, using a recent Senate report indicting both of fraud.

Continuing speculations concerning the health of PDP presidential candidate Umaru Yar’Adua, and Obasanjo’s strident assurances that all is well with him only point up the vulnerable position of both, even as ordinary Nigerians continue to yearn for a paradigm shift in the politics of the country. A recent meeting between Muhammadu Buhari and the leadership of the influential Christian Association of Nigeria during which the ANPP candidate gave firm assurances that he would not tamper with secular provisions of the constitution and favour his fellow Muslims unduly indicate that inter-ethnic and inter-faith coalition-building in pursuit of a broad-based response to the PDP is emerging. Likewise, the positive nation-wide response to Prof. Utomi’s visit to Oloibiri, the Niger Delta village where oil was first struck in 1956, points to burgeoning civic support for political leaders with a record of service and integrity.

It is these powerful supporting pillars of the dawning democratic moment that Obasanjo’s desperate end game is up against. The resort to election rigging and strong-arm tactics will not be an effective response to this moment. To rig the vote is one thing; to form a government based on rigged polls is quite a different ball game.

Presently Nigeria stands at a crossroads – to follow the path of democratic consolidation and its attendant fruits of stable, orderly and accountable government and prosperity; or to return to authoritarian rule and its diet of poverty, corruption, and ethnic conflict.

This drama is unfolding in a new international arena in which the peaceful rise of China and India as major economic powers are changing the balance of power, re-ordering the traditional flow of raw materials from Africa to the Western industrialised countries, and reshaping the way in which powerful corporations think about and do business on the continent. The present presents threats. But it also presents opportunities for resource-rich but technology and capital-poor countries such as Nigeria.

The proliferation of international terror networks, the resurgent scramble for nuclear bombs and other weapons of mass destruction, and rising ethnic wars on a mass scale make a compelling case for arenas of stable and peaceful government in resource-rich areas such as Africa.

Nigeria is one of the most important players on the continent, perhaps the most important. A peaceful, stable and democratic Nigeria can function as an agent of world peace, in a continent that has come up on the foreign policy radar of established and rising powers as crucial to their future economic health.

But a Nigeria in thrall to an incompetent and authoritarian government will open up this vast country to vendors of terror and pillage, further pushing the global order towards cataclysm. Fair elections are therefore as important to ordinary Nigerians as they are to those among the global powers anxious to navigate the new order into calmer waters.

* Ike Okonta is currently Leverhulme Early Career Fellow at the Department of Politics and International Relations, University of Oxford, UK. His book, When Citizens Revolt: Nigerian Elites, Big Oil, and the Ogoni Struggle for Self-determination (Africa World Press, Trenton, 2007) is forthcoming.

* Please send comments to

A massive democratic deficit is at the heart of the Niger Delta crisis, concludes Ike Okota in the third and final article in a series on the troubled Nigerian region. The previous two articles can be found at and [email protected] or comment online at www.pambazuka.org

[1] Reuters, ‘Nigerian oil “hangs in balance,” 23 March, 2006.
[2] See Reuters article.
[3] George Oji, ‘US to increase Naval Presence in Gulf of Guinea,’ ThisDay, 20 March, 2006.
[4] Segun James, ‘Militants to US: Steer clear of Niger Delta,’ ThisDay, Lagos, 24 February, 2006.
[5] Jeffery Taylor, ‘Worse than Iraq?’ Atlantic, April, 2006.
[6] Professor Jeffery Sachs, a Columbia University economist and UN Sec Gen Kofi Annan’s adviser on Millennium Development Goals, developed the ‘Resource Curse’ theory to explain the seeming inability of resource-rich states in Africa and Latin America to industrialise and prosper like their counterparts in south-east Asia.
[7] Michael Watts, Petro-Violence: Some Thoughts on Community, Extraction and Political Ecology, Berkeley Workshop on Environmental Politics, Institute of International Studies, University of California, Berkeley, September 1999
[8] See ‘A Trip to Mend Headquarters,’ The Ijaw Voice, July 2006.
[9] See Constitutionality of the Ijaw Struggle, preface.
[10] Jimmy Carter, ‘Visit to Nigeria,’ The Carter Center, Atlanta, 25 February, 1999.
[11] See Anna Zalik, ‘The Niger Delta: “Petro-violence” and “Partnership Development”, Review of African Political Economy, 2004.

This week, four Scottish oil workers returned to Britain after being seized from an Exxon Mobil compound in the Niger Delta by gunmen seeking a £21m ransom. Earlier this year, local militants stormed a Royal Dutch Shell facility, prompting the oil giant to pull out hundreds of workers and close down wells. Ike Okonta looks at the structure and origins of one of the militias based in the area. He argues that the MEND militia is not an organisation in the formal sense of the word, but an idea, underlying the slew of youth movements that began to proliferate in the Niger Delta in the late 1980s. This article is the second part of a three-part series. The first article, entitled ‘Niger Delta, Behind The Mask’ ( was published last week.

The first thing that strikes you on meeting members of the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND) militia is the ease with which they move about in Warri metropolis, and also in the creek villages, indicating clearly that they are amongst people who not only identify with their cause but also go out of their way to offer them protection and safe havens during attacks by Nigerian soldiers. However, their movements are constrained by the ever-prowling soldiers.

The second thing you notice is that the militants, or the ones elected by the others to respond to your questions, are articulate, well-educated, and conversant with latest political developments in Nigeria and other parts of the world. The introductory encounter took place in a hotel room in Warri. The author had sent word in advance that he would be arriving that Thursday afternoon, and would like to interview one or two leaders of MEND. His courier, a local journalist, said he would try to arrange the interview, but that he was not giving any firm promises as getting hold of MEND leaders would be dependent on the level of Nigerian military presence in Warri that week.

MEND leaders are constantly on the move, extremely cautious, and do not take telephone calls personally, aware of the fact that the soldiers hunting for them have electronic devices capable of pinpointing mobile phone signals with accuracy. The author was in luck. He arrived in Warri when the peace process, initiated by FNDIC leaders, Oronto Douglas, the lawyer and environmental activist, and other Ijaw leaders, was still plodding on, and the Obasanjo government appeared willing to restrain the soldiers for the negotiations to be concluded. A knock sounded on the door of his hotel room and he opened the door. A young man, casually dressed in blue jeans and shirt sleeves stood there smiling.

‘Are you the MEND leader?’ the author asked, surprised. The media images beamed out to the world by the local subsidiaries of the international news wires always depicts MEND fighters as muscular masked men, clutching Kalashnikovs and adopting belligerent postures, as though ready to fire at the slightest provocation.

‘But exactly what do you understand by MEND?’ he countered. ‘There is no such thing as MEND. What I do know is that there are armed youth in the creeks who say they have had enough of the oil companies’ double standards, and are determined to put to an end the exploitation of their people by Shell, Chevron and the Federal Government.’[1]

MEND is not an ‘organisation’ in the formal sense of the word. It is an idea, a general principle underlying the slew of communal, civic and youth movements that began to proliferate in the Niger Delta, and particularly in the Ijaw-speaking areas, in the wake of General Babangida’s failed adjustment policies in the late 1980s.

The country had been run by a succession of authoritarian and corrupt governments since the end of the civil war in 1970, the tragic apogee of which was the Babangida junta. The ensuing economic hardships, the government’s apparent inability to address this crisis, and its refusal to provide a civic and political framework in which oppressed citizens could air their grievances and seek remedy began to encourage a drift towards religious, ethnic, and irredentist organisations. The Ken Saro-Wiwa inspired Movement of the Survival of Ogoni People (MOSOP), which emerged in 1990, and the Ijaw National Congress, born in Port Harcourt a year later, have their genesis in this turbulent economic and political milieu.

These organisations pursued such civic goals as the end to military rule and the return of democratic civilian government, the creation of new states in ethnic minority areas, and an increase in their share of oil receipts. They utilised non-violent protest marches, advocacy in the mass media, petitions addressed to the government, and awareness-building seminars to press their case. However, as economic conditions worsened country-wide and election results were annulled by Babangida in mid 1993, a wave of anger and desperation began to spread among youth in such cities as Lagos, Kaduna, Kano, Enugu, Port Harcourt, Ibadan, Warri and Onitsha.

Militant youth organisations such as Odua Peoples Congress (OPC), Arewa Peoples Congress (APC) and Movement for the Actualisation of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB) emerged in this period. These were communal organisations that drew their membership from the Yoruba, Hausa, and Igbo ethnic groups respectively. OPC and MASSOB wanted dissolution of the Federation, which they said should be replaced with new independent countries based in the various ethnic groups. APC, on the other hand, called for perpetuation of the status quo, but under Hausa political and military leadership. The youth militias began to arm themselves. Clashes with the Nigerian military, and also amongst themselves, became a staple of Nigerian public life from 1994 onwards. General Sani Abacha had toppled the interim government Babangida had installed before he quit in November 1993, thrown Moshood Abiola, winner of the June 1993 presidential elections into jail, and unleashed a wave of terror targeted at journalists, democracy activists, and the youth militias challenging his right to rule.

Political developments in the Ijaw territory followed a slightly different trajectory. The group had not benefited from the various state creation exercises embarked upon by the government in the 1980s and early 1990s. The INC was at the forefront of the agitation to correct what it perceived as a ‘gross injustice.’ It argued that the Ijaw were deliberately dispersed in several coastal states where they constituted an oppressed minority, and that it was only fair that they be brought together in two or three homogenous states. Even so, it was not making any headway.

Skirmishes between Ijaw youth and the oil companies operating in the western delta had begun in the late 1980s, the former complaining that they had not been offered employment in the very industry on their doorstep, and which, to make it worse, was destroying their rivers and farmlands. Ijaw elders and community leaders had mediated, and the process of this mediation gave birth to new youth-led civic groups. Prominent among these were Movement for the Survival of Ijaw Ethnic Nationality (MOSSIEND) and Movement for Reparations to Ogbia (MORETO). Ogbia is an Ijaw clan in the central delta, and from which Oronto Douglas hailed.

The creation of new local government councils in the Warri area by the government in 1997 provided the trigger for the militarization of youth groups in the area. Three prominent ethnic groups occupy Warri metropolis and its hinterland, extending into the creeks. The Itsekiri are perceived to be small but politically dominant. The other two are the Ijaw and Urhobo. There have been squabbles turning on ownership of land, and the rents to be derived there from, among all three groups since the 1920s. But these were usually peaceful affairs, fought out in the law courts.

But the lethal cocktail of economic deprivation, military dictatorship, and worsening environmental crisis in the western delta, which reached explosive heights in the 1990s, ensured that when the next round of land tussles arrived, the entire city would go up in flames. This was exactly what happened in 1997 when the military governor announced the creation of a new local government council with headquarters in an Ijaw village, and then rescinded the decision the following day and moved it to an Itsekiri village. Ijaw youth accused Itsekiri elites of having pressured the government to relocate the seat of the new council to their area. The latter countered that the entire Warri territory belonged to the Itsekiri but that even so they had had no hand in the governor’s decision. Youth from both groups quickly entered the fray.

There was a stampede to arm on both sides. Events quickly degenerated into ethnic massacres and counter-massacres.

The proliferation of small arms in the Warri area inevitably fed into oil bunkering, an illicit activity which had been practiced for decades in the high seas by powerful government officials in collaboration with oil workers.

Fringe elements in these militarised youth groups were to find ‘work’ here, helping the illegal oil barons to tap into pipelines to siphon crude oil and which was then taken to waiting ships. With the return of electoral politics in 1999, politicians in the Niger Delta also recruited from these armed elements to intimidate their political opponents and rig the vote. The oil companies also offered these youth ‘protection work’ in their facilities, arming them with lethal weapons in a cynical move to divide emergent and politically assertive youth organisations that were beginning to emerge. The Ijaw Youth Council (IYC), a new influential organisation founded by Oronto Douglas, Asume Osuoka and others in 1998, had united youth all over Ijaw land in a peaceful but powerful opposition to the exploitative activities of the oil companies and the Federal Government in the region. The famous Kaiama Declaration, a document adopted by youth from several Ijaw clans and spelling out their grievances and how they might be addressed, was the brainchild of the IYC leadership.

It is important to note that it was a small minority that drifted into oil bunkering and protection ‘services’ for the corrupt politicians and oil companies. The overwhelming majority of Ijaw youth remained solidly under the control of the civic and communal organisations they themselves had founded, even after they had come under brutal attack from government soldiers in such towns as Kaiama and Odi in 1998 and 1999 respectively. However, the IYC was to subsequently split into factions following a leadership crisis. Asari Dokubo, one its leaders, went on to establish the Niger Delta Peoples Volunteer Force (NDPVF), declaring that the peaceful methods of the IYC had not been effective and that what the new civilian government headed by President Obasanjo would heed was militant action. Even so, the bulk of the remaining IYC members continued on the path of non-violent political action.

In the morning of 15 February 2006, government helicopter gun ships attacked the Ijaw village of Okerenkoko in the western delta. Okerenkoko is a part of Gbaramatu, an Ijaw clan in the western delta. Government officials alleged that Okerenkoko and neighbouring villages were the epicentre of the illegal oil bunkering activities President Obasanjo had resolved to stamp out, and that Federal troops had been instructed to ‘deal with’ the Ijaw youth participating in the activity. The gun ships returned again on 17th and 18th February, flattening houses and huts and killing several innocent people. [2]

Enraged youth all over Ijawland vowed revenge. It was this bloody incident that triggered the birth of the MEND militia.

MEND and its methods

Although the Okerenkoko attack provided the immediate impetus for the coalescing of several militant strains in the decades-old Ijaw struggle for self-determination into MEND, the movement can be said to have taken several years, dating from Isaac Boro’s short-lived ‘revolution’ in February 1966, to finally come into its own.

The founding core of MEND’s membership is derived from the Gbaramatu clan which was in the eye of the storm in the 1997 local government crisis, and then subsequently bore the brunt of the helicopter gun ship attack of February 2006. Even so, this thesis holds true only to the extent that MEND is viewed as a formal organisation with a clearly delineated membership structure and chain of command. But as already stated, MEND is not so much an ‘organisation’ but an idea which many civic, communal, and political groups, each with its own local specificity and grievances, have bought into.

Resentment at the activities of the government and the oil companies run deep in all Ijaw clans in the eastern, central and western parts of the delta. An intricate maze of creeks links these clans all the way from Port Harcourt in the east to Warri in the west. The explosion of mobile telephony and internet services in Nigeria since 1999 has ensured that communication and coordination between armed units can be effected within minutes. These features are at the heart of the coalescing of disparate but united social concerns to birth MEND.

MEND’s strength and military successes so far lie in four key factors:

First, it has successfully tapped into the fifty-year old Ijaw quest for social and environmental justice in the Niger Delta. There is no village in the Niger Delta where MEND sympathisers do not exist. Consequently, the movement operates in extremely friendly and cooperative terrain, able to mount lightning attacks and then melt into the hamlets undetected.

Second, MEND is a loose coalition of armed militants, guided by a collegiate leadership. This leadership does not in any way constrain the ability of the various units to take their own decisions and mount military attacks independent of the others. The units plan their attacks separately, but are able to coordinate with other units in joint expeditions when necessary. Consequently they are active in all parts of the delta, adopting hit and run tactics and making it difficult for Federal troops to box them into a particular area and launch a massive attack.

Third, MEND militants fight in familiar territory, having fished and farmed in the maze of creeks, marshes, and mangrove swamps that constitutes the Niger Delta since childhood. The Nigerian army and Navy have superior hardware, but they often lose their way in the creeks when they mount attacks or give chase to the militants, rendering them impotent or worse, vulnerable to counter-attack. Several soldiers and naval ratings have lost their lives in this manner.

Fourth, MEND is an astute manipulator of the mass media, and has ensured that its case against the government and the oil companies has been clearly and eloquently made in newspapers and television networks in Nigeria and world-wide. Its case has been helped by the tragic events of 1990-1995 in the Ogoni area, during which period Shell officials worked actively with the Abacha junta to unleash mayhem and mass murder on the people, culminating in the hanging of Ken Saro-Wiwa and the Ogoni eight on 10 November 1995. Journalists and environmental activists in Nigeria, Western Europe and North America who participated in the Ogoni struggle have enthusiastically taken up MEND’s case, even as they urge the militants to put down their guns and return to the path of peaceful dialogue pioneered by the IYC in 1998.

Hostages as weapon

MEND’s weapon of choice is the kidnapping of foreign oil workers. The calculation here is simple. The Nigerian government is notorious for its cavalier attitude when the lives of its citizens are at stake. But other countries, particularly the United States, France, United Kingdom and Italy which have massive oil installations in the Niger Delta in which their citizens operate, usually cry out in loud protest when the latter are taken hostage. Foreign workers are thus the militants’ favourite targets. MEND’s most spectacular hostage taking was carried out at Shell’s Forcados oil terminal in February 2006. Militants grabbed nine expatriate workers employed by Willbros, an engineering firm in contract to Shell, and spirited them away in a speedboat. Following several weeks of complex negotiations between the militants, Ijaw leaders, the Obasanjo government, the oil companies and the American and British governments, the last three of the hostages (several had been released previously) were set free on 27 March. [3]

It is significant that since MEND began to take hostages early in the year, none have been harmed. Government officials have sought to represent this aspect of MEND’s activities as racketeering, claiming that the militants usually extort ransom from the hostages and the government before the former are released. While it is true that there are fringe elements in the Niger Delta who have embraced hostage-taking as a lucrative commercial venture, they are not to be confused with MEND militants. The objective of the latter is fundamentally political: to focus the attention of Western governments and the world media on the Niger Delta when they grab these hostages, and to exploit the blaze of publicity thus generated to announce their grievances and demands of the Nigerian government.

It is, however, in attacks on Shell facilities that MEND militants have displayed absolutely no restraint, an indication of their deep anger at the company’s callous treatment of the Ijaw and the other ethnic groups in the Niger Delta since it began to produce oil in the region in 1956. Shell officials participated in military attacks on delta communities all through the 1980s and 1990s. In my interviews with several of the militants last August, they reeled off the names of the towns and villages that had tasted Shell’s guns: Iko, Umuechem, Ogoni, Nembe, Kaima, Odi…It was a very long list.[4]

MEND’s attack on the Forcados oil-loading platform was as audacious as it was crippling. The oil company was forced to suspend production of 19 per cent of its daily production. The company’s Cawthorne Channel flow station and Odidi II flow station were also destroyed. Pipelines all over the delta were blown apart, and Shell workers threatened with slow and painful death.

ChevronTexaco, Elf and ENI did not escape MEND’s attention. Their facilities also came under attack, and their staff routinely abducted. At the height of MEND’s military assaults in April, a quarter of Nigeria’s oil production had been shut down, and Shell’s giant off shore Bonga oil field, although protected by naval ships and gun boats, was also considered a potential MEND target. Dr Edmund Daukoru, a former Shell employee and since 2003 President Obasanjo’s Minister in charge of petroleum, was so worried that he hurried to Washington D.C. to confer with Sam Bordman, the US energy secretary, on ways and means of taking the MEND ‘problem’ on hand.

In response to what they deemed to be an imminent invasion by special forces from the United States, MEND, Asari Dokubo’s NDPVF and Martyrs Brigade and Coalition for Militant Action in the Niger Delta (CMND), two new groups that subsequently emerged to complement the formers’ militant activities, announced the formation of a ‘Joint Revolutionary Council’ and pledged that they would deploy newly acquired heat-seeking rockets to attack and disable Shell’s offshore Bonga Oil Field. Given that they had successfully attacked several offshore oil facilities in the past, this announcement triggered panic in the international market. Combined with already tight supplies elsewhere, particularly in the Middle East where oil production has significantly reduced in the volatile Iraq-Iran corridor, spot prices surged towards the roof, hitting $72 per barrel.

MEND’s press statements are not only calculated to create maximum panic in the international oil markets. They are also designed to leverage the concerns of the giant US and European financial companies that have invested heavily in Gulf of Guinea’s burgeoning oil and gas industry, with the Niger Delta as its epicentre, to pile pressure on the Nigerian government. Leading the pack are Merrill Lynch, Societe Generale, Bank of America Securities, Credit Suissie First Boston, Morgan Stanley, UBS Investments, Goldman Sachs, J.P. Morgan, and Lehman Brothers. It is significant that these financial behemoths, who together have invested an estimated $15 billion in the Nigerian oil and gas industry (this does not include direct investments by oil companies and related industries) held meetings with Nigerian government officials in November 2005 when confidential reports by American embassy officials in Abuja indicated that the Obasanjo government was speedily losing control of the delta to emergent youth militias.

MEND’s shock tactics yielded dividends initially. Chevron and Shell officials had backed military attacks on local communities all through the 1990s, insisting that their business interests obliged them to offer logistical and financial support to Nigerian troops in their ‘legitimate’ effort to protect the delta oil fields from ‘miscreants.’ But as attacks on its facilities in the western delta accelerated in 2003-2004, resulting in the killing of company workers (three Nigerians, two Americans and their guards), shutting down 140,000 barrels of daily production, and hitting a peak in April 2006, Chevron executives in California began to rethink their martial policy, and subsequently made the unprecedented statement that the company was not in support of military solutions in efforts to restore peace in the Niger Delta.

They also quickly unfurled a ‘new’ Global Memorandum of Understanding, which they promised would tackle development problems in the impoverished communities with renewed vigour. Fred Nelson, head of Chevron’s West Africa operations, told journalists in early June that ‘brute force does not work in the long term. Our strategy is dialogue with the communities to solve their problems. If we can solve their problems the security issue will go away.’[5] MEND’S spokes persons claimed this new pacific posture as a victory.

The militia has also carefully positioned itself to derive maximum mileage from the activities of other militant groups that although not as well-organised and politically coherent, nevertheless share similar grievances and regularly mount their own military attacks on oil company facilities and government troops. These fringe groups have a bewildering array of names, and forge alliances and coalitions as quickly as they dissolve them. Prominent are South-South Liberation Movement (SSLM), Movement for the Sovereign State of the Niger Delta (MSSND), DE Gbam, Niger Delta Vigilante, and Meninbutus, among others. Some of these groups stem from student cults that came into their own with the return of electoral politics in the late 1990s. Politicians in Rivers, Delta and Bayelsa state were quick to press them into service to leverage votes at gunpoint, a trend which subsequently spiralled into oil-bunkering ‘services,’ intimidation of fellow students in universities and other higher institutions all over the Niger Delta, and local community clashes in such areas as Ogoni, Okrika, and Kalabari.

MEND spokespersons regularly deplore the activities of these cults when they veer away from the explicitly political objective of advancing the cause of self-determination and equitable sharing of oil receipts, but are also quick to spring to their defence when soldiers and riot police attack them unjustly.

On July 1, the MEND-led Joint Revolutionary Council issued an ultimatum to President Obasanjo to hand over to it the Rivers State Commissioner of Police for ‘fair trial.’ The police had attacked and killed three Ijaw youth in Abonema town in the eastern delta who they subsequently claimed were cult members involved in raiding of commercial banks in Port Harcourt. MEND rejected this claim, insisting that the slain youth were Ijaw patriots who had ‘fallen in the field of battle.’ Four days after the expiration of the ultimatum, militants struck in the remote oil facility area of Sangana, and in a display of professionalism and bravado, abducted four naval ratings.

MEND’s military exploits have not dented the offensive capabilities of Nigeria’s armed forces. But they have demoralised the troops, and also forced local journalists and other public commentators to begin to ask questions regarding the combat-readiness and overall effectiveness of the Army and Navy.

Most importantly, MEND has transformed the image of the Ijaw, and indeed the entire local communities of the Niger Delta, from the hapless and quiescent victims popularised in the press, ever on the receiving end of atrocities deployed by the government and the oil companies, to an increasingly organised and assertive political bloc, able to hit back at their molesters.

• Dr Ike Okonta is a research fellow in contemporary African politics at the University of Oxford. He is co-author of Where Vultures Feast: Shell, Human Rights and Oil, Verso, New York, 2003.

• Please send comments to [email protected] or comment online at www.pambazuka.org

References

[1] Ike Okonta, Interview with Mr X (not real name), one of the leaders of MEND, Warri, 17th August 2006
[2] See FNDIC, Pathway to the Council, handbook published by the FNDIC, July 2006. See also Constitutionality of the Ijaw Struggle, handbook published by the FNDIC, Warri, December 2005 for Oboko Bello’s version of events leading to the emergence of the Warri local government crisis of 1997. It is to be noted that Itsekiri leaders also have their own version of these events, diametrically opposed to Bello’s.
[3] Associated Press, ‘Nigerian Militants Release Last Hostages,’ 27 March, 2006.
[4] Ike Okonta, interview with Mr X and two other MEND militants, August 2006.
[5] Nigeria Today, ‘Chevron Against Use of force in the Niger Delta,’ 12 May, 2006.

As the crisis in the Niger Delta brews, Ike Okonta looks behind the fragile truce between the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta and Nigeria's central government.Pambazuka News publishes here the first instalment of a substantive paper prepared following a recent visit to the blood and oil-soaked region.

The fragile truce brokered between Nigeria’s central government and the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND) in April 2006, jerked to a bloody halt on 20th August. On that afternoon, soldiers of the Joint Task Force, a contingent of the Nigerian Army, Navy and Air Force deployed by the government to enforce its authority on the restive oil-bearing Niger Delta, ambushed fifteen members of the MEND militia in the creeks of western delta and murdered them. The dead men had gone to negotiate the release of a Shell Oil worker kidnapped by youth in Letugbene, a neighbouring community. The Shell staff also died in the massacre.

The incident occurred five days after Olusegun Obasanjo, Nigeria’s President, instructed armed forces commanders in the region to resort to force and quickly ‘pacify’ the region. This marked a sharp turn-around from the promise Obasanjo gave to representatives of the MEND militia in Nigeria’s capital Abuja, in early April that he would utilise dialogue and carefully targeted development projects to return peace, law and good government to the impoverished Niger Delta.

The streets of Warri, the city where Shell and ChevronTexaco’s western delta operations are based, were thick with tension on the morning of 2 September when Ijo youth converged on Warri Central Hospital in the suburbs to retrieve the corpses of their colleagues and commence the burial ceremonies. The Ijaw are the largest ethnic group in the Niger Delta. The MEND militia draws the bulk of its membership from the Ijaw.

Significantly, there were several prominent Ijaw political and civic leaders at the ceremony. Ordinary people, mainly Ijaw peasant farmers and fisher folk, had left their hoes and fishing nets and travelled from their hamlets in the creeks to pay their last respects to the slain. Spokesmen of the Nigerian government had sought to represent the fifteen militias as ‘irresponsible hostage-takers’ in the wake of the slaughter. But those massed at the hospital that morning spoke only of heroes who had fallen in the battle for ‘Ijaw liberation.’ MEND, it was clear to observers, was firmly embedded in the Ijaw communities from which it emerged in February 2006. MEND continues to enjoy the support of youth and impoverished peasants whose farm lands and fishing creeks – their sole source of livelihood - have been destroyed by half a century of uncontrolled oil production and whose cause they took up arms to champion.

Even so, members of the MEND militia have never seen armed force as a suitable and effective weapon, but only as a tactical tool. They were forced to wield this tool as a last resort after three decades of peaceful entreaty was replied with cynical indifference, from the central government and the oil companies. Leaders of the Federated Niger Delta Ijaw Communities (FNDIC), a civic group with headquarters in Gbaramatu, an Ijaw clan in which MEND’s activities are very pronounced, have served as informal representatives of the MEND militia in negotiations with President Obasanjo and Nigeria’s central government following the abduction of nine foreign oil workers in the creeks of the delta in February. When the author interviewed Oboko Bello, President of FNDIC in Warri in early August, two weeks before the Letugbene massacre, he spoke warmly about the peace meeting he and other Ijaw leaders had had in Abuja with Obasanjo and other government officials on April 5 and 18 2006. He even assured that MEND militants would put their weapons permanently beyond use if the government went some way to address the long-standing grievances of his people. [1]

But it was a sorrowful and stone-faced Bello who addressed his fellow Ijaw during the burial ceremony that afternoon in Warri. He said: “Shell officials were privy to the arrangements Ijaw patriots had made as part of the Joint Investigation and Verification exercise to free the captured company worker and also facilitate the re-opening of the company’s facilities in the creeks. Shell was in direct communication with the commanders of the Joint Task Force, even up to the time our young men set out in their boats to rescue the Shell worker in Letugbene. These young men were not hostage takers. They were Ijaw patriots, selflessly working to repair the damaged peace between the oil company and our people. For this they were ambushed and murdered by soldiers in the service of Shell.” [2]

Oboko Bello ended his one-hour speech on a note of conciliation, arguing that the peace process between the MEND militia and the government begun on 12 March following a meeting between President Obasanjo and prominent Ijaw leaders must not be derailed. But angry voices are rising all over the creeks vowing revenge. These are young men - the volatile, striking arm of the Ijaw political and civic resurgence. Whether moderate voices will be able to rein them in remain to be seen.

For its apart, the central government has adopted a new defiant, militaristic posture, publicly announcing in late August that it was now collaborating closely with the US and British governments to deploy more naval personnel and new hardware to “root out oil rustlers, kidnappers and other undesirable elements from the Niger Delta and the wider Gulf of Guinea.” [3] The MEND militants hunkered down in their heavily fortified redoubts in the creeks, this sounded ominously like an open declaration of war.

FNDIC leaders who spoke to the author shortly after the burial ceremony expressed the concern that the government’s belligerent posture could be an attempt to generate political turbulence in the Niger delta during the general elections, due in April 2007. This turbulence would provide an opportunity for Obasanjo to impose an interim government and extend his tenure beyond the constitutionally stipulated two terms. The elections had been massively rigged in the region (and even more so in the Ijaw areas) by the ruling Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) in 1999 and again in 2003. But FNDIC officials continue to hold out hope that fair elections in which the Ijaw would be fairly represented will provide the solution to the political and economic crisis in which they are trapped. They insist they will continue to work zealously to thwart any attempt to prevent free elections from taking place in Ijaw communities next April.

However, elections in Nigeria and the Niger Delta in particular, are usually turbulent affairs, sometimes descending into the bloody and violent. As was the case in the past, politicians are replenishing their arms caches and resuscitating the network of thugs they rely on to intimidate their rivals, coerce voters to do their bidding, or stuff the ballot boxes outright. The region is awash with small arms and hard cash yet again, and the already volatile cocktail of local resentment of the oppressive activities of the government and the oil companies looks set to blend with guns for hire prowling the creeks and sire another bloody inferno.

Spectacle

The MEND militia and its political sponsors set out in the early months of the year to draw the attention of the world to the parlous condition of the Ijaw people, deploying spectacle as a powerful weapon. Images of armed youth in masks wielding sub-machine guns in the creeks and helpless oil workers at their mercy, squatting in the bowels of speedboats, were beamed to the media all over the world through a skilful use of the internet.

These graphic images generated intense emotions in government circles as well as in the environmental and human rights community in the West. Global oil prices surged and fell with the tone of MEND’s press statements and the physical condition of the captives, whose photographs they put out on the net. But the drama invariably ended on a peaceful note, with MEND setting the oil workers free unharmed. After a spate of armed attacks on the facilities of Shell and two other oil companies in the western delta followed MEND’s emergence in February, the militants and the government seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement that this drama could go on. The actors would be permitted to air their grievances on the world stage, as long as the oil workers periodically taken hostage were not harmed.

The outrage with which the Letugbene murders were greeted by Ijaw youth in the creeks, and rising political tensions all over the country, means there is no knowing whose voice will command allegiance in the coming months: the moderates counselling patience and political participation, or the young hotheads eager to return to the creeks and take on the government and the oil companies they are allied with.

Prelude to an uprising

Before the emergence of MEND, the last time the Ijaw took up arms against the Nigerian government in an organised effort to assert their political rights was forty years ago. In February 1966, Isaac Adaka Boro, a graduate of the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, formed the Niger Delta Volunteer Service (NDVS), a militia comprising of several young and educated Ijaw men, and declared the Ijaw-speaking areas of Nigeria’s then ‘Eastern Region’ an independent ‘Niger Delta Republic.’ In an eleven-point declaration of independence, Boro stated that “all former agreements as regards the crude oil of the people undertaken by the now defunct ‘Nigerian’ government in the territory have been declared invalid,” and that “ll oil companies are commanded …to stop exploration and renew agreements with the new Republic. Defiance of this order will result in dislocation of the company’s exploration and forfeiture of their rights of renewal of such agreements.” [4]

Although Federal troops, directed from the regional capital Enugu soon quashed Isaac Boro’s uprising, the twelve-day revolt jolted the nation. It focussed attention on the travails of the riverbank communities of the Eastern Region, and re-opened debate about their demand (since the Willincks hearing in 1958) to be separated from the Eastern Region in an independent state of their own. At the time the Eastern Region was dominated by the more populous Igbo ethnic group, obliging the Ijaw, Ibibio, Ogoni and other smaller groups to band together and ask for a new ‘Rivers State.’

Boro and his two associates, Sam Owonaro and Notthingham Dick, were arrested and imprisoned. Developments elsewhere in the country were soon to alter the fortunes of the three militants in a dramatic manner. Nigeria had been convulsed in political crisis following independence from Britain in October 1960. At the heart of the dispute was the unwieldy three-region structure that the departing colonialists bequeathed to the country, ensuring that the Northern region, led by Muslim feudal lords who had cooperated with British administrators in governing the country, were given the largest slice, bigger than the Western and Eastern Region combined.

Northern politicians were quick to turn this numerical advantage into political and economic rewards, introducing a corrupt and authoritarian mode of rule in the country that enabled them to transfer wealth derived from the south to their own region. In January 1966 five young army majors, the bulk of Igbo extraction, staged a military coup in an attempt to overthrow the civilian government and put an end to the drift towards misgovernment. Several leading politicians and senior Army officers, including the Prime Minister and the Premier of the Northern Region, were killed. The bulk of those that lost their lives were northerners. Casualty figures in the East were light, leading to accusation by northern officers that the January coup was a plot by Igbo officers and politicians to take over the government of the country by force.

Six months later, in July 1966, northern officers staged a counter-coup, attempted to pull the North out of the Federation, but then changed their mind at the last minute (under pressure from the British High Commissioner and the American Ambassador). Leaders of the coup had killed the military Head of State, General Ironsi, an Igbo who had taken over the reins of government after the January coup had collapsed as the most senior officer in the Army. Over three hundred other officers, the bulk of them from the Eastern Region, were also murdered. The coup leaders appointed Yakubu Gowon, a lieutenant colonel and fellow northerner, Head of State and declared that the Ironsi government had been overthrown.

The military administrator of the Eastern Region, Col. Emeka Ojukwu, refused to recognise Gowon as Head of State, and insisted that the late Ironsi’s second in command, Brigadier Ogundipe take over. Relations between the two sides deteriorated swiftly. Fearing that the East was about to secede, the Gowon regime hunkered down in the federal capital Lagos, and split the country into twelve new states in May 1967, two for the ethnic minority groups of the Eastern Region. The Ijaw formed the bulk of the new Rivers State. Ojukwu responded a few days later by declaring the East as the Republic of Biafra, a new state independent of Nigeria. Federal troops invaded Biafra and civil war broke out. Isaac Boro and his compatriots were released from prison by Federal troops when they overran the riverside parts of Biafra. He subsequently joined the Federal side as a major and commanded his own unit under the Third (Marine Commando) Division. Boro was to die in battle a few weeks before the war ended.

The bloody civil war that raged for thirty months and in which an estimated three million people died, was to profoundly alter Nigeria’s political landscape. The war ended in January 1970 with a Federal victory. Although the Ijaw had reason to be content, having secured the new state they had been asking for since the 1950s, the euphoria was to prove short-lived. The central government had passed on to a victorious federal army the bulk of whose commanders were from the now defunct Northern Region. These officers quickly turned their attention to the oil wells of the Niger Delta. In cooperation with civil servants, they pushed through a number of military edicts nationalising the delta oil fields, and altering the formula for sharing revenue. Whereas previously fifty percent of revenue went to the region or state from which it was derived, all the states now had an equal share, with the central government in Lagos keeping the lion’s share for itself.

The new fiscal regime, which now left the Ijaw and the other oil-bearing communities of the Niger Delta at a distinct disadvantage, took nearly ten years to achieve. The process began in the heat of the civil war, when the Gowon government enacted Decree 15 of 1969, removing the control of the oil fields from their states of origin and putting this in its own control. By the time the soldiers handed over to a new civilian government in October 1979, a rash of decrees and edicts had transformed the Niger Delta into a colony whose inhabitants bore the brunt of the oil production on which the national economy relied heavily but enjoyed none of the benefits. These edicts included the 1978 Land Use Act that confiscated the oil-bearing land of the delta communities and put this under the ‘protection’ of the central government.

The new civilian government, under President Shehu Shagari, a northerner, was effete, purposeless and corrupt. This ill-fated Second Republic was overthrown in December 1983 by General M. Buhari. On Buhari’s watch, the portion of oil revenue that went to the Ijaw and the other oil-bearing communities of the Niger Delta plunged to a derisory 1.5 per cent, down from 20 two years previously. Meanwhile Shell Petroleum Development Company (SPDC), the local subsidiary of the Anglo-Dutch oil giant, and other Western oil companies operating in the Niger Delta continued to benefit from the legislations that had successfully reduced the delta communities to squatters on their own land. Shell had begun to produce oil in 1956, and now accounted for half of the country’s total oil production of two million barrels per day.

According to the provisions of the legal regime guiding oil production, oil companies were not required to obtain the permission of the local communities on whose land and creeks they explored for, and mined oil. They were only answerable to government officials far away in the capital. All that the oil companies were asked to do was pay ‘compensation’ to local people for crops and other valuables destroyed in the course of oil production. Estimation was largely left to the discretion of Shell officials, and they were quick to take advantage of this and undercut the local people. Environmental protection laws were also flagrantly breached by all the companies, resulting in the devastation of the farm lands and fishing creeks on which the Ijaw and the other communities had relied for livelihood for millennia. [5] Previous decades of government neglect had reduced the delta communities to excruciating poverty, but now their very existence was threatened.

General Ibrahim Babangida overthrew General Buhari in a palace coup in August 1985, and introduced a Structural Adjustment Programme, supervised by the IMF. Ostensibly designed to ameliorate the financial crisis into which decades of corrupt and inefficient government had plunged the country, Babangida’s new economic policies only succeeded in plunging the people into worse poverty. The currency was devalued, hiking up the price of imported necessities. Social services were cut. Millions were retrenched from jobs in government and the private sector.

The already impoverished Delta communities felt the new harsh economic climate particularly keenly. There were neither factories nor government jobs in the region. The enclave oil economy employed a handful of local people even as it left environmental destruction in its wake. Hospitals, roads, piped water, schools, paved roads and electric power were non-existent, and where they were supplied, grossly inadequate. As thousands of Ijaw, retrenched from their jobs in the cities and towns began to stream home in late 1980s, the Niger Delta region began to heave. It was clear to the discerning that a political storm was about to break.

The first storm came in the shape of an attempted military putsch, led by Ijaw and other Delta elements in the Army. In April 1990 these young military officers stormed Dodan Barracks, seat of the central government, and reduced its perimeter walls to rubble with mortars and AK47s. But General Babangida managed to escape, rallied senior commanders to his side and mounted a counter-attack. Outflanked and outgunned the coup plotters surrendered. After a hasty trial, closed to the public, they were executed.

The defiant utterances of the young officers as they faced the firing squad, declaring that they had ‘struck a blow for the oppressed people of the Niger Delta in the spirit of Isaac Boro’, and the economic upheavals in the delta and the wider country that led to this bloody episode, were to prepare the ground for the emergence of the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND) sixteen years later. [6]

• Dr Ike Okonta is a research fellow in contemporary African politics at the University of Oxford. He is co-author of Where Vultures Feast: Shell, Human Rights and Oil, Verso, New York, 2003.
• Please send comments to or comment online at www.pambazuka.org

References

[1] Ike Okonta, interview with Oboko Bello, President of Federated Niger Delta Ijaw Communities (FNDIC), Warri, 14th August 2006. In summary, Ijaw representatives asked for the creation of two states, in addition to Bayelsa state, for their people to be carved out of the existing states of Edo, Ondo, Cross Rivers, Rivers, and Akwa Ibom. They also asked that fifty per cent of oil revenue derived from the Niger Delta be given to the communities, that Ijaw businessmen be given a greater pie in the oil industry, and that the central government withdraw armed troops from the region and compel Shell and the other oil companies to put an end to incessant oil spills and gas flaring.
[2] Oboko Bello, ‘FNDIC Presentation During Burial Ceremony of Nine out of Fifteen Illustrious Sons Killed While Serving the Purpose of SPDC in Letugbene Community,’ Presented in Warri, Delta State, 2 September, 2006.
[3] Onyebuchi Ezigbo, ‘Niger Delta: Britain, US Offer Assistance to Nigeria,’ ThisDay, Lagos, 31 August, 2006.
[4] See Tony Tebekaemi, The Twelve Day Revolution, Ethiope Publishing Company, Benin City, 1982, p. 12. See also Kathryn N. Nwajiaku, ‘Oil Politics and Identity Transformation in Nigeria: The Case of the Ijaw in the Niger Delta,’ Unpublished DPhil thesis, Department of Politics, University of Oxford, 2005, for an excellent scholarly study of the political context of Isaac Boro’s revolt in 1966.
[5] For a comprehensive treatment of the social and environmental consequences of oil production in the Niger Delta, see Ike Okonta and Oronto Douglas, Where Vultures Feast: Shell, Human Rights and Oil, Sierra Club, San Francisco, 2001.
[6] Ihuoma Iwegbu, ‘Why they Struck,’ National Concord, Lagos, 24 April, 1990.

It’s nearly ten years after Nigerian activist and writer Ken Saro-Wiwa and eight other members of the Movement for the Survival of Ogoni People (MOSOP) were hanged on the morning of 10 November, 1995. Present day Nigeria faces fresh protests in Saro-Wiwa’s stomping ground of the Niger Delta over authoritarian rule and the plunder of the environment by big oil companies. Ike Okonta writes that despite a strategy of state intimidation to suppress the demands of the Ogoni people, the words of Ken Saro-Wiwa live on and are firmly embedded in the political soil of the Niger Delta. (See below for French version).

In life, Ken Saro-Wiwa, the Nigerian writer and minority rights activist, was an elemental force. Like the sun that illuminates all that it touches, Saro-Wiwa’s work beamed a powerful searchlight on the crummy corners of the Nigerian state, illuminating the sordid acts of injustice and oppression that have been visited on the poor and the powerless in the country since it was cobbled together by imperial Britain in 1914.

It was a light that the wealthy and powerful found discomforting, and they resolved to extinguish it. Ken Saro-Wiwa was saying things they did not want to hear, even if all of it was true. Even more worrying, he had mobilized his people, the Ogoni, a small ethnic group in Nigeria’s Niger Delta where Royal/Dutch Shell and several other transnational companies had been producing oil for four decades without giving them any of the proceeds, to stand up and insist that enough was enough.

This was in the early 1990s. Ken Saro-Wiwa had written a small pamphlet in 1990 in which he spelled out the grievances of the Ogoni against the Nigerian state and Shell that was exploiting several oil fields in the area and had subjected the farmlands and fishing rivers of local people to devastation. Saro-Wiwa also spelled out how these grievances might be ameliorated, informed by a regime of rights that have been observed only in the breach since the turn of the 20th century. The Ogoni had been reduced to subjects by the British with the advent of colonial rule, an unhappy state of affairs that had been perpetuated by subsequent Nigerian governing elites. They wanted to reclaim their rights as citizens.

This pamphlet, which has since attained iconic status in the international environmental and human rights community, is the Ogoni Bill of Rights. A few months after it was published, Ken Saro-Wiwa and other Ogoni worthies banded together and established the Movement for the Survival of Ogoni People (MOSOP), a grassroots political organization they planned to use as a vehicle to achieve all the demands and goals in the Ogoni Bill of Rights.

MOSOP was a run-away success from the onset. The organization was ingeniously structured, taping into the age-old republican norms of the six federating Ogoni clans and embedding itself in all hamlets, villages, and towns in the Ogoni nation. MOSOP was not just an ethnic movement. It combined the civic and communal, encouraging women, youth, workers organizations and self-help groups to form their own branches that were then affiliated with the umbrella organization. Ken Saro-Wiwa, the guiding genius of MOSOP, was appointed its spokesman by popular acclaim.

On January 4, 1993, MOSOP and the Ogoni people marked the United Nations day of the world’s indigenous peoples with a peaceful march that saw 300,000 children, women and men in the streets of Bori and other Ogoni towns and villages singing songs of protest. The Nigerian subsidiary of Shell was declared persona non grata and its workers in Ogoni were peacefully expelled from the oil fields. The Nigerian military government was also asked to account for the 30 billion dollars worth of oil taken from the Ogoni oil fields since 1958, and to recognize the demand of the people for a measure of political and economic autonomy within the Nigerian federation.

This was the beginning of MOSOP and Ken Saro-Wiwa’s travails. Nigeria’s political elites had since the oil boom of the early 1970s, considered the oil fields of the Niger delta as a private fief, for them to do with as they saw fit. A raft of decrees and laws had been passed taking over the oil-bearing land of local communities in the area and transferring it to the central government in Abuja, Nigeria’s capital. Shell and the other oil companies had been encouraged to barge into this land to mine oil without paying adequate compensation to the rightful owners. Billions of dollars had poured into the coffers of these elites and their accomplices in Shell while the Ogoni, the Ijaw and the other minority groups pined away in poverty and neglect, denied such basic amenities as water, power, roads, schools, and hospitals.

Ken Saro-Wiwa threatened this cozy arrangement between Nigeria’s corrupt power elite and the oil companies, and they determined to do away with him. Beginning in mid 1993, a special military task force was established by the military government, and with the active cooperation of senior Shell Nigeria officials, proceeded on a campaign of terror, mayhem, and mass murder in Ogoniland. MOSOP elements were identified, isolated, and murdered or maimed. Women were raped. Homes were looted and razed to the ground. In all, 102 Ogoni villages were plundered and their inhabitants either murdered or driven out into the forests.

In May 1994 Saro-Wiwa was arrested by the government on trumped up charges of murder. Several other MOSOP members were detained along with him. After a judicially flawed trial that was widely condemned by human rights groups and opinion leaders world-wide, Ken Saro-Wiwa and eight other MOSOP leaders were hanged in a Nigerian prison in the morning of 10 November, 1995.

In November 2005 it will be ten years since Ken Saro-Wiwa and the Ogoni Eight were murdered in cold blood by the Nigerian military junta and dumped into unmarked graves. Their intent was to remove the writer and activist from political contention in the Niger delta, and also rid Shell of its most powerful critic. But Saro-Wiwa dead has become even more of a potent force in the burgeoning campaign for minority rights, corporate social responsibility, and environmental protection than when he was alive. He has joined the eternal greats beautified by their selfless service to humanity, even at the cost of their lives.

All over the world preparations are being made to mark the tenth anniversary of Saro-Wiwa’s passing. Several non governmental organizations in Nigeria are banding together to establish a writers resort for the late writer who gave African literature such classics as ‘Soza-boy: A Novel in Rotten English’, ‘On a Darkling Plain’, and ‘A Forest of Flowers’. A memorial statute of Saro-Wiwa will be erected in London by a group of environmental and human rights groups. San Francisco will offer a musical concert and fundraiser on behalf of the Ken Saro-Wiwa Foundation, recently established by the late writer’s son, Ken Wiwa Jnr.

Still, the present Nigerian government, and the oil companies to which it is in hock, are working feverishly to undermine the legacies of this moral and political giant, in the Niger delta and elsewhere in the country. A fresh wave of communal and civic unrest is sweeping through the delta as youth, women and communal leaders join their counterparts in other parts of the country to demand an end to authoritarian rule and the regime of impunity that has enabled the transnational oil companies to plunder the resources of local people and despoil their environment.

The government took delivery of yet another batch of fast attack boats from the United States in early September and has deployed them to the delta, ostensibly to check the activities of oil smugglers. But local activists say there has been a marked increase in military deployments in the region of recent, coinciding with the mass mobilisation of civic and political groups in the delta to frustrate the ruling government’s plot to perpetuate itself in office beyond 2007 when fresh presidential and local elections are due.

Niger delta leaders walked out of a conference convened by the central government in February to work out a new federal framework and an acceptable formula for sharing the oil revenue when their demand for twenty percent of oil receipts was rejected. They also refused to back a covert plan that would have enabled the President, Olusegun Obasanjo, to alter the provisions of the constitution and continue in office when his term expires in May 2007.

The increased military presence in the region, and the recent spate of detention of local leaders, is President Obasanjo’s way of retaliating against those in the region he now characterises as ‘subversive elements’. It is, however, unlikely, that these strong-arm methods will suppress the clamour for democratic accountability, self-representation, and proper consideration for the environment in the region. Saro-Wiwa was hanged in order that Shell might return to its oil wells in Ogoni. But the Ogoni have refused to back down, and the oil company is still persona non grata in the area twelve years after it was peacefully expelled from the Ogoni oil fields. The present wave of military intimidation will not achieve the result Nigeria's authoritarian leaders desire: unchecked plunder of the oil wealth of the delta communities. Saro-Wiwa's words have embedded firmly in the political soil of the Niger Delta.

Ken Saro-Wiwa was a writer and a man of ideas. He believed that the written word was potent, and that good ideas would endure no matter the travails and obstacles placed on their path. Saro-Wiwa was right. Ten years after he was brutally cut down, his word and ideas are as potent as when he first uttered them in the early 1990s.

* Dr Ike Okonta is a Junior Research Fellow in the Department of Politics and International Relations, University of Oxford. He's co-author of ‘Where Vultures Feast: Shell, Human Rights and Oil’ (Verso: London, 2003). He writes a weekly column for the Lagos daily, ThisDay.

* Please send comments to [email protected]

Remember Saro-Wiwa
http://www.remembersarowiwa.com

Remember Saro-Wiwa is a coalition of organisations and individuals encompassing the arts and literature, human rights and environmental and development issues. Remember Saro-Wiwa is working with Ken Saro-Wiwa's family and the Ken Saro-Wiwa Foundation (based in Toronto, Canada). Visit http://www.remembersarowiwa.com for a list of planned events and partner organisations.

Remembering Ken Saro-Wiwa: Book titles resissued
http://www.africanbookscollective.com/

To coincide with the ten-year anniversary of the execution of Ken Saro-Wiwa, and in association with the Remember Ken Saro-Wiwa coalition, African Books Collective is reissuing some of his best known works. Visit the ABC website at http://www.africanbookscollective.com/ to browse the titles.

À la mémoire de Ken Saro-Wiwa et la lutte pour la justice au Nigeria
Dr. Ike Okonta

Ça fait presque dix ans que Ken Saro-Wiwa, activiste et écrivain nigérian, et huit autres membres du Mouvement pour la Survie du Peuple Ogoni (MOSOP) ont été pendus au matin du 10 novembre, 1995. Aujourd’hui, le Nigeria doit faire face à de nouvelles manifestations dans le delta du Niger, le territoire fréquenté surtout par Saro-Wiwa, à cause de lu régime autoritaire et du pillage de l’environnement commis par les grandes sociétés pétrolières. Ike Okonta écrit que, malgré la stratégie d’intimidation qu’emploie l’état pour supprimer les demandes du peuple Ogoni, les mots de Ken Saro-Wiwa vivent toujours et sont solidement enracinés dans le sol politique du delta nigérian.

Vivant, Ken Saro-Wiwa, écrivain nigérian et défenseur des droits des peuples minoritaires, était une force élémentaire. Comme le soleil, qui illumine tout ce qu’il touche, l’?uvre de Ken Saro-Wiwa était une torche qui a exposé les coins minables de l’état nigérian, illuminant les actes sordides d’injustice et d’oppression qui ont été commis contre les pauvres et les impuissants dans le pays depuis son origine, origine d’ailleurs mal organisé par les Britanniques quand ils ont pris possession du pays en 1914.

C’était une lumière qui a troublé les riches et les puissants, et donc ils ont résolu de l’éteindre. Ken Saro-Wiwa disait des choses qu’ils ne voulaient pas entendre, même si tout était vrai. Encore plus troublant, il avait mobilisé son peuple, les Ogoni, un petit groupe ethnique dans la région du delta nigérien du Nigeria, où Royal/Dutch Shell et plusieurs autres sociétés transnationales produisaient du pétrole déjà depuis quatre décennies sans leur en donner aucun revenu, à se mettre debout et à insister que cela en était assez.

Nous sommes au début des années 90. Ken Saro-Wiwa avait écrit un court pamphlet en 1990 dans lequel il a énoncé les plaintes des Ogoni contre l’état nigérian et contre Shell, qui exploitait plusieurs gisements de pétrole dans la région et qui avait dévasté les terrains agriculteurs et les rivières utilisés par le peuple local. Saro-Wiwa a aussi articulé les moyens par lesquels ces plaintes pourraient être améliorées, informé par un régime de droits qui ont été observés seulement dans leur infraction depuis le début du 20e siècle. Les Ogoni avaient été réduits à des sujets par les Britanniques sous la règne coloniale, un état malheureux qu’avaient perpétué les élites nigérians après leur appropriation du pouvoir gouvernemental. Les Ogoni voulaient reprendre leurs droits comme citoyens.

Ce pamphlet, qui a depuis atteint un statut iconique parmi les communautés internationales qui défendent l’environnement et les droits humains, est le Bill of Rights des Ogoni. Quelques mois après sa publication, Ken Saro-Wiwa et d’autres notables Ogoni se sont groupés ensemble et ont établi le Mouvement pour la Survie du Peuple Ogoni (MOSOP), une organisation politique au niveau de la base dont ils voulaient profiter afin d’accomplir toutes les demandes et tous les buts annoncés dans le Bill of Rights Ogoni.

MOSOP était un succès éclatant depuis son origine. L’organisation était structurée de façon brillante, tirant profit comme il l’a fait des normes républicaines et anciennes des six clans fédérants des Ogoni, et s’enracinant dans tous les hameaux, tous les villages, et toutes les villes de la nation Ogoni. MOSOP n’était pas seulement un mouvement ethnique. C’était un mélange des éléments civiques et communautaires, et a encouragé des femmes, des jeunes, des organisations d’ouvriers, et des groupes d’entraide à former leurs propres branches qui étaient associées, à l’époque, avec l’organisation centrale. MOSOP a nommé Ken Saro-Wiwa, son génie conducteur, comme porte-parole à cause de sa renommée populaire.

Le 4 janvier 1993, MOSOP et le peuple Ogoni ont observé le jour reconnu par l’ONU comme celui des peuples indigènes avec une manifestation paisible, une action qui a inspiré 300,000 enfants, femmes, et hommes à marcher dans les rues de Bori et celles d’autres villages, tout en chantant des chansons de protestation. On a déclara la filiale nigérienne de Shell persona non grata, et on a expulsé ses ouvriers postés à Ogoni des gisements de pétrole de façon paisible. On a demandé aussi au gouvernement militaire du Nigeria de rendre compte des 30 milliards de dollars de pétrole puisé des gisements de pétrole Ogonis depuis 1958, et de reconnaître la demande du peuple d’une mesure d’autonomie politique et économique dans la fédération nigériane.

Ceci était le début du travail pénible pour MOSOP et pour Ken Saro-Wiwa. Depuis la forte hausse du pétrole du début des années 70, les élites politiques du Nigeria avaient considéré les gisements de pétrole du delta nigérien comme un fief privé, dont elles pouvaient se servir comme elles voulaient. Elles avaient approuvé un tas de décrets et de lois qui ont pris possession des terres qui avaient appartenu à des communautés locales, terres qui étaient riches en pétrole, et elles ont transféré l’administration de ces terres au gouvernement central à Abuja, la capitale du Nigeria. Ces élites avaient encouragé Shell et les autres sociétés pétrolières à s’installer dans ces terres et à en exploiter le pétrole, sans les obliger de payer une compensation adéquate aux propriétaires légitimes du pétrole. Les coffrets des élites et de leurs accomplisses à Shell débordaient des milliards de dollars, tandis que les Ogoni, les Ijaw, et les autres groupes minoritaires languissaient dans la pauvreté et l’oubli, privés des nécessités fondamentales telles l’eau, l’électricité, les autoroutes, les écoles, et les hôpitaux.

Ken Saro-Wiwa a menacé ce rapport intime entre les élites puissantes et corrompues et les sociétés pétrolières, et donc elles ont déterminé de se débarrasser de lui. Vers le milieu de 1993, un corps expéditionnaire a été établi par le gouvernement militaire pour ce but singulier, et, avec la collaboration active de la part des officiaux les plus haut placés de Shell Nigeria, ce corps a procédé à une campagne de terreur, de chaos, et de meurtre en masse dans le pays des Ogoni. Des éléments de MOSOP étaient identifiés, isolés, et assassinés ou mutilés. Des femmes, violées. Des maisons, pillées et détruites. En somme, 102 villages Ogoni ont été pillés et leurs habitants ont été assassinés ou chassés dans la forêt.

En mai 1994, le gouvernement a arrêté Ken Saro-Wiwa et l’a accusé de meurtre, une accusation inventée de toutes pièces. Le gouvernement a retenu, en plus, plusieurs autres membres de MOSOP. Après un procès plein de défauts judiciaires qui a mérité la condamnation de nombreux groupes défenseurs des droits humains et des chefs d’opinion à travers le monde, Ken Saro-Wiwa a été pendu avec huit autres dirigeants de MOSOP dans une prison nigériane au matin du 10 novembre, 1995.

Ça fera, en novembre 2005, dix ans depuis l’assassinat de Ken Saro-Wiwa et les Huit Ogoni, tués avec sang-froid par le junta militaire du Nigeria et jetés dans des tombeaux anonymes. Leur intention, c’était d’enlever l’écrivain et l’activiste du conflit politique du delta du Niger, et aussi de se débarrasser du critique le plus fort de Shell. Cependant, mort, Saro-Wiwa est devenu une force encore plus puissante dans la campagne croissante pour les droits des peuples minoritaires, la responsabilité des grandes sociétés envers la population nigériane, et la protection de l’environnement, encore plus puissant qu’il ne l’a été quand il était vivant. Il s’est joint avec ces grands immortels dont le service désintéressé envers l’humanité, même au prix de leurs vies, les rend beaux.

Partout dans le monde, les préparations se font pour observer le dixième anniversaire de la mort de Saro-Wiwa. Plusieurs organisations non gouvernementales au Nigeria s’unissent afin d’établir un ressort pour les écrivains en l’honneur de l’écrivain décédé qui a légué à la littérature africaine des ?uvres classiques telles « Soza-boy : A Novel in Rotten English », « On a Darkling Plain », et « A Forest of Flowers ». Une statue sera érigée en sa mémoire à Londres par un groupe d’associations qui soutiennent les droits humains et la protection environnementale. San Francisco offrira un concert musical et un projet organisé pour collectionner des fonds au nom de la Fondation Ken Saro-Wiwa, établie récemment par le fils de l’écrivain décédé, Ken Wiwa Jr.

Quand même, le gouvernement nigérian actuel, et les sociétés pétrolières envers lesquelles il est au clou, travaillent infatigablement à saper les legs à ce géant politique et moral, dans le delta du Niger et autre part dans le pays. Une nouvelle vague d’agitation communautaire et civile prend possession du delta comme des jeunes, des femmes, et des chefs communautaires s’unissent avec leurs semblables dans des autres parties du pays afin de demander une terminaison du règne autoritaire et du régime d’impunité qui a permis aux sociétés pétrolières transnationales de piller les ressources et de spolier l’environnement du peuple local.

Le gouvernement a accueilli, vers le début de septembre, la livraison d’encore un groupe de bateaux d’attaque rapide de la part des États-Unis, et les a déployés au delta, avec la prétention de suivre les activités des contrebandiers de pétrole. Pourtant, des activistes locales remarquent que, récemment, il y a eu un croissement signifiant dans les déploiements militaires dans la région, ce qui coïncide avec la mobilisation en masse des groupes civiques et politiques dans le delta, qui ont pour but de frustrer le complot de la part du gouvernement régnant de se maintenir au-delà de 2007, la date des nouvelles élections locales et présidentielles.

En février, les chefs du delta du Niger ont quitté une conférence organisée par le gouvernement central qui avait pour but d’esquisser un nouveau cadre pour le gouvernement fédéral et une formule acceptable pour le partage des revenus pétroliers. Leur demande de vingt pourcent des revenus était rejetée. Ils ont refusé, d’ailleurs, de soutenir un plan secret qui aurait permis au président, Olusegun Obasanjo, de changer les provisions de la constitution et de rester au pouvoir quand son terme se termine en mai 2007.

La présence croissante des forces militaires dans la région, et le nombre de retentions des chefs locaux dans des temps récents, ce sont les moyens par lesquels le président Obasanjo se venge de ceux dans la région qu’il caractérise maintenant comme « des éléments subversifs ». Il est, pourtant, peu probable que ces méthodes de force supprimeront la clameur pour la transparence démocratique, l’autoreprésentation, et une considération adéquate pour l’environnement dans la région. On a pendu Saro-Wiwa afin de permettre à Shell de retourner aux puits pétroliers dans le pays des Ogoni. Mais les Ogoni ont refusé de céder, et la société pétrolière est toujours persona non grata dans la région douze ans après son expulsion paisible des gisements de pétrole Ogonis. La vague actuelle d’intimidation militaire n’atteindra pas le résultat que souhaitent les chefs autoritaires du Nigeria, c’est-à-dire le pillage sans bornes de la richesse pétrolière des communautés du delta. Les mots de Saro-Wiwa sont fermement enracinés dans le sol politique du delta du Niger.

Ken Saro-Wiwa était un écrivain et un homme d’idées. Il croyait que l’écriture était puissante, et que les idées justes endureraient malgré toutes les difficultés et tous les obstacles mis sur leur chemin. Saro-Wiwa avait raison. Dix ans après sa mort brutale, ses mots et ses idées sont aussi puissants que la première fois qu’il les a articulés au début des années 90.

*Le Dr. Ike Okonto est Junior Research Fellow dans le département de politique et de relations internationales à l’université d’Oxford. C’est le coauteur de Where Vultures Feast : Shell, Oil, and Human Rights (Verso : Londres, 2003). Il écrit une rubrique chaque semaine pour le journal de Lagos, « ThisDay ».

*Veuillez envoyer des commentaires à [email protected].

Remember Saro-Wiwa
http://www.remembersarowiwa.com

« Remember Saro-Wiwa » (« À la mémoire de Saro-Wiwa ») est une coalition d’organisations et d’individus qui englobe les arts et la littérature, les droits humains, et les questions de l’environnement et du développement international. Remember Saro-Wiwa travaille avec la famille de Saro-Wiwa et la Fondation Ken Saro-Wiwa (basée à Toronto, Canada). Visitez http://www.remembersarowiwa.com pour une liste des événements prévus et des organisations partenaires.

À la mémoire de Ken Saro-Wiwa : Ses livres réimprimés
http://www.africanbookscollective.com

Pour coïncider avec le dixième anniversaire de l’exécution de Ken Saro-Wiwa, et en association avec la coalition « Remember Ken Saro-Wiwa », African Books Collective vous offre des nouvelles éditions de ses ?uvres les mieux connues. Veuillez visiter le site web ABC à http://www.aficanbookscollective.com pour une liste de tous les titres.

Pambazuka is grateful to Sara Gibson (Yale University) who has translated this article on behalf of Translations for Progress.