Why can’t I retweet? A tweep typed away on Twitter. It was the morning after the President’s broadcast. For 12 days, people had gathered all through the nation in one accord, one voice. They demanded an end to police brutality. In some areas, the protesters blocked off major roads and businesses. There was no other way to drive their point home. This time, they had decided not to back down until all of their demands were met. In the past, the government had made promises to respond to their requests, but they never did.
I still can’t retweet, the tweep quoted another tweet on the timeline. The message was that the youths should not give up still. For days, many had become encouraged at the thought of change coming into the nation. It was an idea that had taken root in the minds of the youth. Some scoffed at the older generation, pointing out that they were cowards and had rolled over for the government to do whatever it wanted. A breath of fresh air was in the offing. There was only one goal: END POLICE BRUTALITY.
Tribe didn’t matter. Religious affiliations had no place in the discourse. The dream of a better country was so close we could almost taste it.
Almost. What can we do with almost? My mind is cast back to an incident during the Bible days. King Agrippa, having been preached to by Paul, gave his feedback. “You almost persuaded me to be a Christian,” he said. Paul had just given a long speech about his faith and all he had gone through. His words were so moving that Agrippa almost considered becoming a Christian. He didn’t, however.
Almost does nothing. One could compare it to attempting to start a fire with the last matchstick amid a storm. The joy of the fire coming alive is short-lived. Almost.
On the 20th of October, 2020, the lights in the eyes of many were put out. The day had started like the others before. The youths had come out en masse to drive home their points. Across the states, several unscrupulous characters had been introduced to derail the protests. It was a strategy aimed at tainting the legitimacy of the protest. Over the years, we have seen the emergence of touts, who, for of a small fee, destroy properties. In some cases, they maim and kill whoever does not align with the values of their masters. It was a gimmick that had always worked.
Keep them subjected and they will keep coming back for crumbs.
The peaceful protesters pointed out to all that cared to listen; they did not subscribe to the way things were going and condemned it in the strongest possible terms. The right to protest was a fundamental right, particularly in democratic societies. On this fateful day in October, the youths had converged together in defiance of the curfew. They held the Nigerian flag, clinging to an idea of peace and unity, the same that had eluded the nation since its independence in 1960. The rest of us watched on, amazed at the resilience of these groups of people. They were tired of being killed and extorted. With great determination, they intended to see things to the end, to be the change that we so desperately needed.
On 20th, October we watched live on Instagram as bullets rained on the protesters, decimating bodies and killing some.
“Bodies are been carted away!” the individual that was recording the event cried.
We were plunged into a new low. “How could this be?” we mourned. Was the price of defying the curfew death? More people became mentally exhausted. Had we been living in a military regime all of these years while pretending we were in a democracy? The Lekki massacre drew the attention of many international bodies and famous people who then lent their voices to the crusade. For the next 24 hours, the looting and violence went unchecked all through the country, particularly in Lagos.
“Maybe if we could hear our President speak, peace may be restored to the nation,” many people thought. At 19:00 hrs the next day, the President gave a 12-minute speech to the nation. In the least, it was demoralizing. “The rogue police unit has been disbanded,” he stated. In no certain words, he implied that the youths should get off the streets or expect dire consequences. There was no empathy detected in his words.
Till tomorrow, many people are still missing, their last seen location, the Lekki tollgate. But for some reason, people believe a live IG video was tinkered with and that it may have been the figment of our imagination.
“Abeg, who do us this thing?” A Nigerian asked.
“Are we cursed?” He continued.
In every story, there are three versions. Mine, yours, and the truth. For now, we may have been bullied into submission, but the truth will prevail eventually.
“Why can’t I retweet?” The tweet resonates with me because I see the revolution being beaten out of us as there have been various calls to return to normalcy.
Normalcy.
Has any of our lives before the recent events been normal? The average Nigerian is one sickness away from poverty, but we want ‘normal.’
People get kidnapped by the police while taking leisurely walks down their streets.
Why do the good die young and the evil folks live a full life, rich and powerful? Do curses work?
We are struck down but not destroyed. Many lives and properties have been wasted in this struggle, and it can’t have been for naught. It is time to fight smart and not strong. There have been a few lessons to pick from all these. Brute force and destruction of properties, both private and public, should be discouraged on all counts.
Some battles are best won by re-strategizing. This country belongs to us all. Together, we can make Nigeria great. Not almost, but great.
Wake up!
#Nigeria #October #realism
