Anthony Obi Ogbo
Biafra: A Scarred Past, A Tense Present
“For those who casually talk of war or fantasize about forcing the Igbo to flee again, it’s crucial to understand one thing: the dynamics of conflict have changed.” —Dr. Emeaba Emeaba
Naïveté is a condition of trusting too easily, of believing the world to be simple and fair, of taking things at face value. This was the state of the Igbo people in Nigeria before the tragedy of Biafra. The Igbo were industrious traders and sojourners who engaged with the world earnestly, often assuming others shared their sincerity. But their aggressive individualism and entrepreneurial spirit irritated many, planting seeds of resentment in a fragile national fabric.
The tipping point came with a failed coup in 1966. The coup’s leaders were largely of Igbo extraction, and some prominent Hausa-Fulani politicians were killed. When the coup was suppressed by the then-Igbo army commander, Major General Aguiyi Ironsi, who assumed national leadership, suspicion turned to hostility. It didn’t matter that the Igbo were not collectively complicit; perceptions of ethnic dominance fueled violent reprisals. Across Nigeria, Igbo civilians—men, women, and children—were slaughtered, maimed, and driven from their homes. Their crime? Sharing the same ethnicity as some of the coup plotters.
Faced with relentless persecution, the Igbo fled to Eastern Nigeria, seeking refuge under the protection of their military governor, Lt. Col. Odumegwu Ojukwu. The clamor for safety and dignity led to a call for secession, birthing the short-lived Republic of Biafra. However, the Nigerian government responded with war, branding the secession as rebellion. What followed was a campaign of destruction: mass killings, starvation as a weapon of war, and the obliteration of civilian populations under the pretense of maintaining national unity.
By the war’s end in 1970, millions of lives had been lost. The Igbo were stripped of their properties, political positions, and dignity. Biafra’s failure was not due to a lack of resolve but to an underestimation of the lengths to which the Nigerian state and its foreign backers would go. The Igbo assumed they were fighting soldiers; they did not anticipate a war on civilians, where tanks and air raids rained terror upon villages.
Since then, the Igbo have returned to Nigeria, grinding their teeth but channeling their energies into rebuilding their lives through commerce and ingenuity. Yet, the scars of Biafra linger. The Igbo homeland remains heavily policed and militarized, with even minor disturbances treated as national security threats. Meanwhile, some factions in Nigeria invoke the war in their rhetoric, threatening violence and deriding the Igbo as occupying an area that is a “tiny dot” in Nigeria These are not merely words—they are provocations that ignore the lessons of history.
For those who casually talk of war or fantasize about forcing the Igbo to flee again, it’s crucial to understand one thing: the dynamics of conflict have changed. The Igbo have learned from Biafra. They are no longer confined to a “dot” but are everywhere, contributing to Nigeria’s economy and building homes far from their ancestral lands. They will not retreat to be cornered and crushed again.
And war itself has evolved. It is no longer fought with soldiers who can be dispatched to distant territories while leaders issue commands from comfortable enclaves. Drones and modern weaponry have democratized destruction. In today’s world, no region can claim immunity from the fires they set elsewhere—ask Russia, in their flirtations with Ukraine.
So, let this be a warning: watch your words and actions. The fires of Biafra burned too hot, and the ashes are still smoldering. Those who continue to stoke these embers risk starting an inferno that no one—not even the instigators—will be able to extinguish.
Let us learn from the past and choose dialogue, empathy, and unity over divisiveness. Nigeria cannot afford to repeat the mistakes of its history.
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♦Publisher of the Drum Magazine, Dr. Emeaba Emeaba is an author and entrepreneur based in Nigeria and the United States
“Buhari’s legacy is not a national treasure—it is a cautionary tale of tyranny cloaked in uniform and democracy.” —Anthony Obi Ogbo
In many cultures, including mine, it’s considered immoral to speak ill of the dead. But tradition should never demand silence in the face of truth, especially when that truth is soaked in blood, broken promises, and the battered dignity of a nation. General Muhammadu Buhari, former military dictator and two-term civilian president of Nigeria, has finally departed this world. He died in London, a city he frequented not as a diplomat or global statesman, but as a medical tourist—fleeing the ruins of a healthcare system he helped wreck with decades of authoritarianism, tribalism, and economic blundering.
Muhammadu Buhari emerged from the rotten womb of Nigeria’s corrupt military order — a regime where brute force outweighed intellect, and the rattle of an AK-47 silenced the rule of law. In this twisted hierarchy, competent officers were buried in clerical backrooms while semi-literate loyalists were handed stars, stripes, and unchecked authority. It was a theater of mediocrity, where promotion favored obedience over merit and ignorance was rewarded with rank. Within this structure of absurdity, Buhari thrived — a man with no verifiable high school certificate, yet elevated above the constitution, above accountability, and tragically, above the very people he was meant to serve. He didn’t just symbolize the decay; he was its product and its champion.
Let’s not sugarcoat his legacy. Buhari was no hero. He was a man whose grip on power twice disfigured Nigeria’s soul — first with military boots from 1983 to 1985, then under the guise of democracy from 2015 to 2023. His government jailed journalists, brutalized citizens, crippled the economy, and widened tribal divisions with unapologetic bias. His infamous Decree No. 2 sanctioned indefinite detentions. His so-called “War Against Indiscipline” terrorized the innocent. His economic policies were textbook disasters.
Buhari governed with the cold logic of a tyrant who believed brute force was a substitute for vision — and silence a substitute for accountability. The Southeast, in particular, bore the brunt of his vengeance-laced leadership. His disdain for the Igbo people was barely concealed, a poisonous remnant of civil war bitterness he never let go. In his death, that venom remains unresolved, unrepentant.
Let the record reflect that many of us do not weep. We remember.
Even more damning is the legacy of hypocrisy. After decades in power and access to untold national wealth, Buhari could not trust the hospitals he left for ordinary Nigerians. He died where he lived his truth — in exile from the very system he swore to fix. That is not irony. That is an indictment.
And now, as scripted eulogies pour in — from paid loyalists, political survivors, and the ever-hypocritical elite — let us not be fooled by the hollow rituals of state burials and national mourning. Let the record reflect that many of us do not weep. We remember.
- We remember the students gunned down.
- The protesters beaten in the streets.
- The journalists silenced.
- The dreams buried beneath military decrees and broken campaign promises.
We remember that Buhari was not simply a failed leader — he was a deliberate one, whose failings were not accidents but strategies.
And so, here lie the cold remains of one of Nigeria’s most divisive and mean-spirited leaders — a man who brutalized the democratic process with the precision of a tyrant and the coldness of a man utterly void of remorse. As Muhammadu Buhari begins his final, silent descent into the earth, one can only imagine him entering eternity still questioning the justice of creation: Why did God make women? Why did He place oil in the Niger Delta and not in Daura? And why, of all things, did He dare to create tribes outside the Fulani?
It is not my job to mourn a dictator. My duty is to chronicle them — how they ruled with iron fists, trampled their people, choked the press, and finally died, not as legends, but as small men stripped of all illusions. Dictators are counterfeit gods, tormenting peaceful nations while their delusions last. But sickness humbles them. Death silences them. And in the end, all their grandstanding collapses like dust in a grave.
As a journalist, I will record Buhari’s death with precision, not reverence. I will report the pomp, the propaganda, and the hollow eulogies that will rain down like cheap perfume on a corpse. I will write the truth, because history must never confuse power with greatness — especially when evil wore both the uniform and the ballot.
Let the living learn. Let the wicked sleep. And let the truth outlive them all.
I will not mourn a man who ruled through fear and died surrounded by foreign doctors while his people die waiting in overcrowded hospital corridors. I will not pretend this is a time for unity or healing. This is a time for reckoning. For too long, Nigeria has recycled tyrants and renamed oppression “leadership.” Buhari’s death should not be a moment of forced reverence but a pause for honest reflection. Let his final chapter be a lesson carved into our collective memory: that power without purpose, and rule without empathy, always ends in disgrace. History should not be kind to tyrants simply because they are no longer breathing. If we are ever to break the chains of corruption and cruelty, we must bury the lies with the bodies — and speak truth, even at the graveside. Let the living learn. Let the wicked sleep. And let the truth outlive them all.
♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D. is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
Anthony Obi Ogbo
Dunamis Digital Dilemma: Why Shutting Down Virtual Worship May Alienate a New Generation of Believers
“Spirituality is no longer confined to physical sanctuaries” —Anthony Obi Ogbo
The demands of the digital and virtual age, especially in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, are both undeniable and irreversible. The pandemic didn’t merely disrupt norms—it reshaped them. From global commerce to education and religious observance, the shift to digital platforms is now a defining feature of contemporary life. The surge in e-commerce has revolutionized how consumers behave, compelling organizations to reinvent their digital presence through social media, targeted marketing, and immersive experiences like augmented and virtual reality.
Yet, while many institutions have adapted to these realities, some remain entrenched in pre-pandemic mindsets. One recent example is the Dunamis International Gospel Centre in Abuja, Nigeria, under the leadership of Pastor Paul Enenche. The church announced the suspension of its live-streamed services, citing the biblical imperative for believers to gather physically, as referenced in Hebrews 10:25.
While the theological rationale was emphasized, the practical implications—particularly financial—were conspicuously understated. Churches around the world have successfully embraced virtual platforms not just to foster spiritual connection but also to maintain financial stability through online giving systems. In contrast, Dunamis’s move appears to prioritize physical attendance at the expense of accessibility and inclusivity.
In today’s digitally integrated society, suspending virtual worship risks alienating many who have come to rely on these platforms. Individuals with health challenges, mobility issues, or who live far from church facilities depend on livestreams to remain spiritually connected. More importantly, younger generations increasingly seek faith experiences that mirror their digital-first realities—flexible, inclusive, and globally accessible. By disregarding these expectations, churches may unintentionally push away the very audiences they aim to engage.
Pastor Enenche’s decision, while perhaps grounded in spiritual intent, may prove counterproductive in practice. The younger demographic—tech-savvy, mobile, and globally aware—now expects more from institutions of faith. They are turning toward worship centers that treat digital engagement not as an afterthought but as a vital dimension of spiritual life. The hybrid church model—integrating both in-person and online elements—has emerged as a powerful strategy for expanding reach while honoring traditional values. It allows churches to be both rooted and relevant.
The decision to suspend livestreaming church services reflects a deeper tension between tradition and innovation, between preserving ritual and adapting to contemporary realities. Faith institutions today are not just places of worship; they are also cultural anchors navigating an increasingly digital society. Ignoring this evolution risks rendering the church irrelevant to a generation that lives, works, and worships online. Spirituality is no longer confined to physical sanctuaries—it’s present in podcast sermons, Zoom prayer meetings, WhatsApp devotionals, and YouTube gospel concerts.
Virtual engagement is not a dilution of faith; it is an extension of it. It makes the message of hope and redemption accessible across boundaries of geography, ability, and circumstance. The pandemic revealed this, but the future will demand it. Churches that fail to embrace digital tools risk becoming spiritual silos—isolated, inflexible, and out of touch with modern believers.
Leadership in ministry, like leadership in any other sphere, must evolve with the people it seeks to serve. Pastor Enenche and others in similar positions should not view digital transformation as a threat but as an opportunity—an opportunity to reach farther, touch deeper, and uplift more lives. The gospel, after all, is meant for all—and now, more than ever, everywhere.
♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
“Employers aren’t just filling vacancies—they’re investing in solutions” —Anthony Obi Ogbo
Long before graduation, I understood that success in the job market required more than just a degree. Throughout college, I committed to internships, apprenticeships, and vacation jobs—some unpaid—solely to build the kind of professional experience that would ease my transition into the workforce. By the time I completed my NYSC at The Nigerian Guardian, I wasn’t just another fresh graduate—I was a candidate with proof of performance. I was retained on merit and even offered two cartoon columns at Guardian Express in a separate contract. That preparation made all the difference.
Today, however, many college graduates enter the job market unequipped for its demands. They speak of rejection, frustration, and a lack of experience—all valid concerns in an economy where employers no longer train novice hires from scratch. In a hyper-competitive, fast-paced, and increasingly skills-based market, the burden of preparation rests squarely on the students themselves.
There was a time when being a “novice” came with room to grow. Employers saw potential and invested in it. Now, entry-level roles often come with mid-level expectations: practical skills, strategic thinking, and an ability to contribute from day one. Employers aren’t just filling vacancies—they’re investing in solutions.
This is why it’s crucial for students to begin preparing early. That means building portfolios, seeking field-relevant internships, volunteering in areas that sharpen communication and leadership, and using every academic project as a springboard for real-world insight. These experiences add depth to a résumé and provide talking points in interviews that distinguish candidates from the crowd.
Equally important is networking. The relationships students build—with mentors, professionals, or peers—often become the very bridges that connect them to employment opportunities.
Ultimately, preparing for employment as a college student isn’t optional—it’s essential. And the sooner students begin, the better their chances of entering the workforce with confidence, clarity, and competence.
♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us