Ikengaonline Editorial
In Nigeria, even discussing Biafra is taboo. The war and its atrocities are a chapter of history we are desperate to erase. But as if that erasure isn’t damning enough, Igbo-bashing remains a national pastime. When will Nigeria summon the courage to acknowledge its sins, apologize to Ndigbo, and seek to appease the millions of innocent souls, women and children, whose blood was unjustly spilled and still cries out to the heavens?
The year was 1865. The American Civil War had just ended, leaving the American South in ruins and four million formerly enslaved Black people standing at the threshold of a new life, free but with nothing to their names. No land, no wealth, no tools to build a future. They had to start from scratch in a land that had once thrived on their unpaid labour. Recognising this stark reality, Union General William T. Sherman issued Special Field Order No. 15, a radical decree that offered a glimmer of hope.
The order promised that each Black family would receive 40 acres of land along the coasts of South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida, a chance to finally own something, to plant roots in the soil they had toiled on for generations. In some cases, the government even provided a mule to help them work the land.
For the first time, these newly freed men and women could envision a future where they were not at the mercy of former slaveholders. Thousands of Black families moved onto the lands, clearing fields, planting crops, and building homes. It was the first real attempt at reparations, an effort to mend the wounds of slavery and give Black Americans a fair shot at economic independence.
But hope was short-lived. President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, and with him died the promise of a just America. His successor, Andrew Johnson, a staunch white supremacist, wasted no time dismantling Sherman’s order. With the stroke of a pen, he returned the land to its former Confederate owners, the very people who had waged war to keep Black people enslaved.
The betrayal was swift and devastating. Families who had just begun to rebuild their lives were suddenly evicted, cast out with nothing. Some were forced to work as sharecroppers, a system that trapped them in perpetual debt to the same white landowners who once enslaved them. The dream of economic freedom was crushed before it could even take root.
This broken promise was more than a policy reversal, it was a message. It told Black Americans that their suffering did not warrant compensation, that their labour and sacrifice would not be repaid.
The failure to deliver on 40 acres and a mule was not just a missed opportunity, it was an open wound that still festers in the fabric of American society till this day.
In A Journey in Service, a book that has been widely criticized as General Ibrahim Babangida’s attempt at revisionist history, filled with half-truths and, by some accounts, outright fabrications, many were stunned by his portrayal of some of his most controversial decisions. Time and again, he made himself out either as a victim of circumstance or as one who cleverly shifted blame onto his subordinates. What made his claims particularly egregious was the fact that many of those he accused are no longer alive to offer their defense. Yet, as the saying goes, even a broken clock is right once a day.
On the subject of the horrible Nigeria-Biafra war, his analysis aligns with earlier accounts that the January 1966 coup was never an “Igbo coup” in the sense that its plotters sought ethnic domination. This was the pretext used to justify the brutal counter-coup and the subsequent pogrom against Ndigbo. The difference, however, is that Babangida to date, reluctantly perhaps, is one of the highest-ranking figures to acknowledge this truth.
To quote some of his statements: “Major Kaduna Nzeogwu was ‘Igbo’ only in name. Born and raised in Kaduna, his parents were immigrants from Okpanam in present-day Delta State, which was part of the old Mid-Western Region in 1966. Nzeogwu spoke fluent Hausa and was as culturally Hausa as any Northerner. He and his co-conspirators, even if naïve, likely believed they were acting in the country’s best interest.
“It is also worth noting that several non-Igbo officers participated in the coup, including Major Adewale Ademoyega, Captain Ganiyu Adeleke, and Lieutenants Fola Oyewole and Olafimihan. Moreover, an officer of Igbo descent, Major John Obienu, played a key role in crushing the coup.
“Equally significant is the fact that Igbo officers were also victims of the January coup. For instance, Lt-Col. Arthur Chinyelu Unegbe, Babangida’s former commander at the Reconnaissance Squadron in Kaduna, was brutally gunned down by his own ‘brother,’ Major Chris Anuforo, in front of his pregnant wife at their Apapa residence. Unegbe, the Army’s Quartermaster-General, controlled access to weapons, ammunition, and vital military supplies. The coup plotters saw him as a potential obstacle to their plans and eliminated him without hesitation.
“Those who argue that the coup was never ethnically motivated often point to the fact that the plotters’ ultimate goal was to release Chief Obafemi Awolowo from prison and install him as the country’s leader.”
Babangida concludes with a baffling statement: “My position here may be the naïve insights of an unsuspecting young officer who viewed events from a distance.”
Really? What exactly was speculative in this account? That Igbo officers were also killed? That an Igbo officer helped foil the coup? That non-Igbos actively participated? Or that the plan included freeing Awolowo? The facts are clear. One can only wonder why Babangida, instead of confronting the truth head-on, chose to dance around the edges of a matter that is as black and white as they come.
In the immediate aftermath of the war, General Yakubu Gowon set a reconciliatory tone with his famous “No victor, no vanquished” mantra. He went even further, promising a grand programme of Reconciliation, Reconstruction, and Rehabilitation to heal the deep wounds of war and rebuild a shattered economy. Yet, fifty-five years later, all that remains of that promise are empty words.
Ndigbo continue to be treated in Nigeria as mere visitors, living on what feels like a temporary visa, one that can be revoked at the whim of the host community where they settle. In many cases, deliberate efforts are made to disenfranchise them, with the central government either indifferent or complicit in such injustices. Politicians, in their pursuit of popular support, frequently resort to anti-Igbo rhetoric, knowing it will find fertile ground among certain segments of the population.
Some argue that because Ndigbo own substantial assets across Nigeria, they have been fairly integrated. But this wealth was not the result of any reparative effort or government initiative; it was built through sheer resilience, often against overwhelming odds. They succeeded in spite of the system, not because of it. Their determination and hard-work may have masked the structural discrimination they endure, but it has never erased it.
When Ndigbo are appointed to federal positions, it is often more about tokenism and virtue signalling than a recognition of their rightful place as an indispensable part of project Nigeriana. Real inclusion means equitable representation, not symbolic gestures.
One of the longest-running global black struggles has been the demand for reparations for the transatlantic slave trade and over four centuries of colonial exploitation. The late MKO Abiola dedicated a significant part of his life to this cause, lobbying Western powers and spending vast sums in the process. Yet, within Nigeria, we remain silent about our own dark past. We massacred over two million Igbos, obliterated their means of livelihood, and justified it all with the false pretext of stopping ethnic domination. No one speaks of reparations.
If we demand accountability from others for the injustices done to us, shouldn’t we first atone for the wrongs we have committed against our own?
In Nigeria, even discussing Biafra is taboo. The war and its atrocities are a chapter of history we are desperate to erase. But as if that erasure isn’t damning enough, Igbo-bashing remains a national pastime. When will Nigeria summon the courage to acknowledge its sins, apologize to Ndigbo, and seek to appease the millions of innocent souls, women and children, whose blood was unjustly spilled and still cries out to the heavens?
If Nigeria is truly serious about moving forward, we must first confront our past with honesty and make amends. Healing requires more than empty promises. It demands action. Just as individuals must take responsibility for their wrongs to restore relationships, nations, too, must reckon with their past to build a future founded on truth and equality.
True unity is not born from silence and amnesia but from honesty and restitution. Reparations are not just about money or land. They are about justice. They are about acknowledging past wrongs and repairing what was deliberately broken. There can be no real progress without truth, no unity without justice, and no peace without genuine reconciliation.
