Must we destroy the evidence of our past to build our future?, By Lande Ọmọ Ọba

And I asked myself: Must we destroy the evidence of our past in order to celebrate our freedom from it? Surely, preserving a colonial building does not mean celebrating colonialism! It simply means acknowledging that this was part of our history. Whether we like that history or not, it happened. I am told that even the fountain that replaced the courthouse is no longer functional. We lost an important historical building for a water fountain that is not functional. The list goes on and on.

On Tuesday, I had the privilege of listening to former President Olusegun Obasanjo speak at Harvard University Institute of Politics and Centre for African Studies. He had come to discuss peacekeeping in Africa and beyond, but there was something he said about our identity and history that has stayed with me. There were quite a number of young Nigerians in the room, many from the diaspora.

A young man, about 26 years old, asked a question about the Nigerian Civil War. He wanted to know whose account of the war was correct, considering that different people had different versions of what happened. As he spoke, I sensed that he was leaning towards finding fault with one ethnic group over another and allied to the current heated polity. President Obasanjo was not having it!

He gave examples of heroic acts by individuals from different ethnic groups and equally troubling acts by people from those same groups. In fact, he told a story of how he was saved from an assassination plot by a Hausa, Hassan Katsina. Then he uttered the words that I will hold dear for a long time. “There are only two types of Nigerians: good Nigerians and bad Nigerians. Not good tribes and bad tribes.” I thought that was profound.

But I also kept thinking about that young man. He is 26. He was not born when the civil war happened. So, whose version of history is he listening to? His grandfather’s? His parents’? Someone who experienced the war? Or perhaps something he read on social media? And what if the version he has heard is incomplete or coloured by someone’s personal experience or prejudice? How would he know? Which is why many like me worry about our attitude to history in Nigeria.

We talk a lot. We argue endlessly about our past, our leaders, the civil war, ethnicity, corruption, and everything in between. But how much do we actually document and, more importantly, how much do we learn so that we do not keep making mistakes? History is not just about remembering what happened. It is about understanding why it happened, what went wrong, what worked, and how we can do better. We cannot keep making the same mistakes and expecting different results. As President Obasanjo spoke about peacekeeping across Africa, I found myself thinking about Nigeria. We have played important roles in keeping peace in other countries, but today we are struggling with insecurity and divisions within our own borders. Surely, understanding our history must be part of finding lasting solutions.

And I found myself asking, why are we not doing more of this in Nigeria? Our history did not start from our independence in 1960. I was recently told a story about the old courthouse at Tinubu Square, near Kakawa Street on Lagos Island. Apparently, the site once housed the Court of Assizes, an important part of our judicial history during colonial rule. The building was demolished and replaced with a fountain commemorating Nigeria’s independence.

Not too long ago, I visited Concord, Massachusetts and had the opportunity to spend some time at the historic Colonial Inn, a building dating back to 1716! Nearby, British forces and American colonial militiamen fought during the Revolutionary War in 1775. The area has been carefully preserved, with buildings, monuments and records that tell the story of what happened. I stood there taking it all in. Here was a country preserving a history that is over 250 years old. Generations have come and gone, but the story remains accessible. Of course, people may disagree about how historical events should be interpreted. But the evidence is there to be examined.

And I found myself asking, why are we not doing more of this in Nigeria? Our history did not start from our independence in 1960. I was recently told a story about the old courthouse at Tinubu Square, near Kakawa Street on Lagos Island. Apparently, the site once housed the Court of Assizes, an important part of our judicial history during colonial rule. The building was demolished and replaced with a fountain commemorating Nigeria’s independence. A friend was telling me about how Professor Wole Soyinka has also commented critically on the loss of that historic building. The argument, as the story was told to me, was that we needed to put the memories of colonial rule behind us, and we replaced this site with a water fountain!

And I asked myself: Must we destroy the evidence of our past in order to celebrate our freedom from it? Surely, preserving a colonial building does not mean celebrating colonialism! It simply means acknowledging that this was part of our history. Whether we like that history or not, it happened. I am told that even the fountain that replaced the courthouse is no longer functional. We lost an important historical building for a water fountain that is not functional. The list goes on and on.

In the West, they have lectures on the life of Christopher Marlowe and William Shakespeare born in 1564! At one of the lectures, I felt an inner voice asking how many times I have attended or been invited to a lecture on the life of any outstanding African born even 100 years ago, but here I was listening with rapt attention to this lecture. Sometimes we are too eager to move on, to forget, to start afresh, without asking ourselves what we should have learnt from what came before.

What about the ordinary Nigerians who lived through those difficult years? The mothers, teachers, civil servants, journalists, and families whose lives were changed forever? Who is recording their stories? Who is listening to them? And who is making sure that the next generation has access to these accounts? We need to preserve our history, especially the difficult and uncomfortable parts.

We forget that progress is often about improving on yesterday, not pretending yesterday never happened. We are not only losing our living history, but we are also gradually losing the generation that witnessed some of the most important periods in Nigeria’s history. Those who experienced independence, the civil war and the early years of military rule are getting older. Many have already passed away. Every time one of them dies, we risk losing stories that may never have been properly documented. These people are living libraries. And I am not talking only about former presidents, governors, or military leaders.

What about the ordinary Nigerians who lived through those difficult years? The mothers, teachers, civil servants, journalists, and families whose lives were changed forever? Who is recording their stories? Who is listening to them? And who is making sure that the next generation has access to these accounts? We need to preserve our history, especially the difficult and uncomfortable parts. Not in order to keep old wounds open or pass blame from one generation to another, but to understand how we got here and what we must do differently.

I keep thinking about that young man at Harvard and President Obasanjo’s response. The young boy whispered to many around him: “He didn’t answer my question,” and someone else said “Our African parents avoid uncomfortable truths with long tales and proverbs.” I smiled. Will they act differently when they become elders? We owe future generations the truth about our history, not simply the version that suits our beliefs, our families, or our ethnic affiliations. Because if we genuinely want a better Nigeria, we must be willing to learn from the Nigeria that came before us. We cannot erase our past and then expect to learn from it.

By the way, I paid $15 to the tour guide to tell me about the revolutionary war and my brunch at the Colonial Inn cost $65. There is money to be made for history and tourism.

‘Lande Omo Oba, a lawyer, writes from Lagos.