Junior was born to preserve the heirloom
By the time the bickering is over, we’ll be in the first quarter of 2019. There’ll either be a new president or a fresh mandate for the brand new refurbished one. Any which way, we’ll be financially and homogeneously broke as a nation. The poor of Lagos would still be as poor as his peer from Katsina; the underprivileged of Ondo would be as close in rank to his counterpart in Kano.
In the camp of the ruining class, very little would have changed except proximity to the distribution of patronage and by extension, the source of wealth redistribution. If your family is not better off right now, it does not matter in whose political camp you’re toiling, they’ll not be better off in 2019. It has nothing to do with the empty blessings of your gods of men.
Ruining dynasties have learnt the principle of seed dispersal. They do not harvest all their eggs into one basket. If Popsie is on the left of power, (Momsie usually has no say in these things), he sits Junior down and coaches him to go to the right of power. If they have a name that resonates for good or for ill, Junior knows it is better to be seen to be a disobedient rebel than to beg from those who once used to serve Popsie. It’s in the name. They work to ensure that the ‘disobedience’ makes it to the mainstream and social media so as to set tongues wagging. Juniors always run on the carburant of their Popsie’s reputation.
While this is happening, the usual critics are marking time in Fela’s perambulation while staying same shame same condition. Junior runs on the notoriety of Popsie but the naïve sheep does not know. The sheep jubilates that the family of his father’s oppressor is divided. He swears that the divine them into confusion completely oblivious that the joke is on him.
So, while you’re purring over this act of willful disobedience, somebody’s future is being sealed. When scoundrel Popsie dies or is finally dumped into the periphery of national discourse, Junior is there sustaining the family legacy. This is the caliphaization of the ruining class. Whenever the ruining class installs a caliph, the redemption of the ruined is further sealed.
For consolation (if any is required) this is not limited to Naija. It is a global phenomenon. We have seen it in India with the Ghandi dynasty. In Pakistan, we had the Bhutto clan and in America, the Kennedys and Bushes. The difference between us, and say the American society is that the latter has built a foundation for an irreducible minimum within which an industrious individual’s lifeline is guaranteed. No American, except those in Puerto Rico celebrates epileptic power supply as a worthy political achievement of his elected official. The payment of pensions is no accomplishment. Lawbreakers are liable to face prosecution and there are protests when societal camels pass through the eye of the needle of justice.
In most parts of the developing world, there is no solid foundation for human existence and any attempt at pinpointing this governance lacuna is shouted down by those at the receiving end. In the early life of this change regime, some of us were stupid enough to protest when political and bureaucratic who-is-who installed their offsprings in strategic parastatals like the NNPC, CBN, NPA et al. We were naïve in thinking that our refurbished and reinstalled anticorruption czar would come out guns blazing against perceived injustice. That was supposed to be the litmus test of change. It was not to be. The privileged kids kept their positions and I bet some have even advanced on the pecking order while the children of lesser gods wax lyrics in praise of TraderMoni and other election-induced dynamism as dividends of democracy. Those occasionally plunged in the dark swear by how much they have saved from not frequently cracking their generating sets. On public funds, the oppressor does not feel power failure courtesy of symbiotic transition from national to personal grid.
We have moved from all that to pitching camps over the correct interpretation of the recorded outrage of an outwitted caliph who spent national wealth trying to guarantee his perceived status on the national pecking order. This disappointment of his that caused national outrage is the outcome of the political calculus by which anybody is free to sew wild oats, but only those who systemically plant on watered ridges are assured of bounteous harvest. Pa Bubu’s body language is close to his oral one, he services his 95%; the rest of you, go and get yours from the whirlwind.
Its hilarious reading the combative narratives of the children of those condemned to eternal servitude that put their own lives and age-old friendships on the line to guarantee the space for their oppressors. By the time this political nonsense is over, some would have made eternal enemies of those destined to preserve their deplorable lives. It is written, your fathers served their fathers with servile diligence; you and your children would serve their children too counting it as freedom.