Column
Honoring Prof. Chris Ulasi at 70: A Life of Scholarship, Service, and Brotherhood
Today, I write with great joy and admiration to wish you, Prof. Chris Chinwe Ulasi, a delighted 70th birthday. It is a glorious milestone, and my family and I are honored to join friends and colleagues in celebrating this remarkable occasion with you here in Cancun, Mexico.
Since I first met you in 2005 at Texas Southern University (TSU), Houston, Texas, you have consistently demonstrated that you are a true Nwannedinamba—a brother from Anambra State, Nigeria. As both a colleague and a friend, you have been a source of inspiration to all who have crossed your path.
Shortly after I joined TSU, a colleague informed me that I had a “brother” in the School of Communications. That brother was you. Not long afterward, we co-presented a training seminar for Akwa Ibom legislators, accompanied by their then-Governor, Akpabio, who now serves as Senate President of Nigeria. I vividly recall how your training manual immediately impressed me with its depth and clarity. From that moment, we became not only colleagues and friends but brothers in every sense of the word.
You are a bona fide poet whose work resonates deeply with those privileged to read it. Your poems, carefully crafted and rich in meaning, often reflect the pressing issues of the time. I read them more than once to fully grasp their layered insights. They remind me of my younger days, poring over Dele Giwa’s columns in The Concord newspaper, pen and paper in hand, collecting new vocabulary. Thankfully, with the aid of modern technology, deciphering your poetic expressions has become more accessible, though no less profound.
Beyond your academic scholarship, you are a respected public intellectual. Through your efforts and those of your colleagues, you revived the West African Pilot News as co-publisher and executive editor, initially founded by Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe. I still recall when you invited me to join the editorial board and contribute op-eds. Initially hesitant—declaring myself a criminologist, not a journalist—you quickly convinced me that the goal was to elevate Ndigbo voices. You were right: too often, the positive narratives of Ndigbo are overlooked. Since then, the Pilot has become a vital platform for scholars and writers across disciplines to express optimistic, forward-looking visions of Nigeria and Africa. This is a tremendous legacy—one that you and your team should be proud of.
Your academic and professional accomplishments speak for themselves. You are a Professor of Radio, Television, and Film, the Dean of the School of Communication, and Chair of the Department of Radio, Television, and Film at TSU. With over three decades of teaching, research, and creative work—and more than 25 years of leadership experience—you have distinguished yourself as an educator, scholar, administrator, and cultural leader. Beyond the classroom and administrative offices, you are a dynamic force in the world of media and literature. A talented screenwriter, producer, director, and poet, you have used your voice and platforms to shape narratives and inspire change. You have been a journal and book editor of the Journal of Nigerian Affairs, formerly COMPO REVIEW. Since 2000, you have proudly served as University Marshal at TSU—another testament to your enduring leadership and commitment.
Your leadership in the Houston community is equally outstanding. The more than 200 people who traveled to Cancun to celebrate you are a testament to your enduring impact. As Chairman of the People’s Club of Nigeria International, Sugarland chapter, your leadership has been exemplary. At Our Savior Anglican Church (OSAC), you oversee communications and have trained younger members to manage the system with excellence, even in your absence. You also serve as Dean of the Diocesan Conference, a role appointed by the Bishop, and are a valued member of OSAC’s governing board. Your dedication has contributed significantly to the growth and unity of the church.
Moreover, in the broader community, you once served as Chairman of the Ndi-Ichie Igbo Cultural Club and now lead its annual cultural celebrations in Houston. These events showcase the richness of Igbo heritage—culinary delights, traditional dances, language, and youth involvement—with elegance and pride.
Nwannedinamba, I could fill many more pages with your accomplishments, but allow me to share a personal story. When I lost my beloved brother, Prof. Ebere Onwudiwe (may his soul rest in peace), you traveled all the way from Nnewi to Isunjaba, Imo State, accompanied by a musical group and heartfelt gifts, including Nkwu Elu. I shared that special palm wine only with members of the Onwudiwe family. Your presence in our family compound remains unforgettable. While we danced to the Ogene music you brought, you engaged in deep dialogue with my traditional ruler about the origins of Isu. My Eze later insisted that you visit the palace, where he intended to present you with archival records on Isu’s history. One day, we will fulfill that promise.
Prof. Ulasi, you are not only a distinguished colleague and scholar but also a cherished friend. We are deeply grateful for your friendship and all you have done for us and the broader community. We also thank your wonderful wife for her unwavering support, love, and understanding.
As we mark this milestone with you, we are reminded that true greatness lies not just in titles held or accolades received, but in the lives touched, the values modeled, and the legacy quietly built each day. You exemplify this kind of greatness. May your 70th year be a continuation of your influence, your light, and your unwavering commitment to building a better, more just, and culturally vibrant world.
As you celebrate your 70th birthday, we wish you continued health, joy, and fulfillment. May the years ahead bring even greater blessings. Thank you for being the exceptional person you are, Nwannedinamba.
With warmest regards,
Prof. I. D. Onwudiwe
____
■ Dr. Onwudiwe, a Professor of Criminology at Texas Southern University, is on the EDITORIAL BOARD of the WAP
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Anthony Obi Ogbo
When Power Doesn’t Need Permission: Nigeria and the Collapse of a Gambian Coup Plot
“Power does not always announce itself; sometimes it prevents chaos simply by being present.“ —Anthony Obi Ogbo
A failed coup attempt in The Gambia reveals how Nigeria’s understated military, diplomatic, and intelligence influence continues to shape West African stability—without spectacle, but with unmistakable authority.
The attempted destabilization of The Gambia—quickly neutralized before it could mature into a full-blown coup—served as a quiet but powerful reminder of how regional power is exercised in West Africa today. While social media narratives raced ahead with exaggerated claims and half-truths, the reality underscored a familiar pattern: Nigeria remains the pivotal stabilizing force in the sub-region, especially when the democratic order is threatened.
Unlike the dramatic coups that have unsettled parts of the Sahel, the Gambian plot never gained momentum. It faltered not by accident, but by deterrence. Intelligence sharing, diplomatic signaling, and the unmistakable shadow of regional consequences helped shut the door before conspirators could walk through it. At the center of that deterrence was Nigeria—acting through ECOWAS mechanisms, bilateral security coordination, and its long-established role as the region’s security backbone.
Nigeria’s influence in The Gambia is not a new phenomenon. From the 2017 post-election crisis, when Nigerian forces formed the backbone of the ECOWAS Mission in The Gambia (ECOMIG), to ongoing security cooperation, Abuja has consistently demonstrated that unconstitutional power grabs will not be tolerated in its neighborhood. The recent coup attempt—however embryonic—was measured against that historical memory. The message was clear: the region has seen this movie before, and Nigeria knows how it ends.
What is notable is not just Nigeria’s military weight, but its strategic restraint. There were no dramatic troop movements or chest-thumping announcements. Instead, Nigeria’s power was exercised through quiet pressure, coordinated intelligence, and credible threat of collective action. That subtlety is often overlooked in an era obsessed with spectacle, but it is precisely what makes Nigerian influence effective. Power does not always announce itself; sometimes it prevents chaos simply by being present.
The Gambian coup flop also exposes a wider truth about West Africa’s information ecosystem. Rumors travel faster than facts, and failed plots are often retrofitted into heroic or conspiratorial narratives. Yet the absence of tanks on the streets and the continuity of constitutional governance speak louder than viral posts.
In a region grappling with democratic backsliding, Nigeria’s role remains decisive. The Gambian episode reinforces a hard reality for would-be putschists: while coups may succeed in pockets of instability, they are far less likely to survive in spaces where Nigeria’s regional influence—political, military, and diplomatic—still draws firm red lines.
The failed coup attempt in The Gambia is a blunt reminder that real power in West Africa does not always announce itself with tanks, gunfire, or televised bravado. Sometimes it arrives quietly—and when it does, it often carries Nigeria’s imprint. While social media chased rumors and inflated conspiracy theories, the reality was far less dramatic and far more decisive: the plot collapsed because the regional cost of success was simply too high.
Unlike the coups that have torn through parts of the Sahel, the Gambian attempt never found momentum. It was stopped not by chance, but by deterrence. Intelligence sharing, diplomatic signaling, and the unspoken certainty of ECOWAS intervention closed the door before it could open. At the center of that deterrence stood Nigeria, operating through regional institutions and long-established security relationships. Abuja did not need to issue threats; its history spoke for itself.
Nigeria’s influence in The Gambia is rooted in memory. In 2017, Nigerian forces formed the backbone of the ECOWAS Mission, which enforced the electoral will and prevented a democratic collapse. That precedent still haunts would-be putschists. They know how this story ends, and they know who writes the final chapter.
What makes Nigeria’s power effective is not just military superiority, but strategic restraint. There were no dramatic troop movements or chest-thumping speeches—only quiet pressure, coordinated intelligence, and credible readiness. In a region addicted to spectacle, this restraint is often mistaken for weakness. It is not.
The Gambian coup flop also exposes the toxicity of the information space, where fiction outruns fact. But governance is not decided online. It is decided by institutions, alliances, and forces that do not need permission to matter. The message to plotters is brutal and clear: coups may succeed where chaos reigns, but they rarely survive where Nigeria still draws the red lines.
♦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
- Turnout, Trust, and Ground Game: What Decided Houston’s Runoff Elections - December 14, 2025
- When Power Doesn’t Need Permission: Nigeria and the Collapse of a Gambian Coup Plot - December 14, 2025
- Nigeria–Burkina Faso Rift: Military Power, Mistrust, and a Region Out of Balance - December 14, 2025
“Humility is the anchor that keeps greatness from drifting into delusion.“ —Anthony Obi Ogbo
Fame is a dangerous flame. It warms, it dazzles, and if you hold it too close, it burns straight through the layers of judgment that keep a person grounded. In its hottest glow, fame convinces artists that applause is permanent, talent is immunity, and fans are disposable. Arrogance doesn’t erupt overnight—it grows in the quiet corners of unchecked power, in entourages that never challenge, and in audiences that forgive too easily. But the world has a way of reminding every superstar of one brutal truth: no one is too famous to fall.
This season, Burna Boy is learning that lesson in real time. The Grammy-winning giant—hailed globally as the “African Giant”—is now facing one of the most dramatic reputational meltdowns of his career. Five U.S. arena dates on his NSOW Tour have reportedly been cancelled due to poor ticket sales and a fierce wave of fan backlash following his Denver debacle. What was supposed to be another triumphant American tour has spiraled into an expensive public relations disaster.
It all ignited on November 12, 2025, at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado. The show started late. Energy was high. Then Burna Boy spotted a woman in the front row who had fallen asleep. Instead of performing through it, he halted the show, called her out publicly, ordered her partner to “take her home,” and refused to continue until they left. The humiliation would have been bad enough on its own. But later reports revealed she wasn’t drunk or uninterested—she was exhausted, mourning the recent death of her daughter’s father.
The internet demanded empathy. Burna responded with contempt. A sleeping fan, he said, “pisses me the f*** off.” And then the line that detonated the backlash: “I never asked anybody to be my fan.” Those ten words may become the most expensive sentence of his career.
This wasn’t an isolated flare-up. Burna Boy has long danced on the edge of arrogance, and the public has kept receipts. In 2019, he halted a performance in Atlanta to eject a fan who wasn’t dancing—handing the man money and telling him to leave. In Lagos in 2021, a fan who attempted an innocent stage hug was shoved off by security, sparking outrage over excessive force and coldness.
The following year was worse. In 2022, his security team was accused of firing shots in a nightclub after a woman allegedly rejected him, injuring multiple patrons and triggering legal headaches that trailed him for months. Fast-forward to January 2023: at his “Love, Damini” concert in Lagos, he arrived hours late, berated the crowd, and left fans feeling disrespected and insulted.
By 2025, the pattern was undeniable. He kicked a fan offstage during a New Year’s performance. Months later, he brought a Colorado concert to a standstill until an “unengaged” couple was escorted out. The incidents piled up, painting a portrait of an artist increasingly out of touch with the people who made him a global phenomenon.
This latest incident, however, has delivered the sharpest consequence yet: the U.S. market—a notoriously unforgiving arena—has pushed back.
Cancelled shows. Sparse crowds. Boycotts. Refund demands.
For perhaps the first time, an African artist of Burna Boy’s magnitude is experiencing a full-force American-style public accountability storm.
If African entertainers are paying attention, they should treat this moment as a case study in how fame can be mismanaged.
The first lesson: Fan value is sacred. Fans are not props. They are not subjects. They are not inconveniences in an artist’s emotional universe. They are customers, supporters, ambassadors, and—most importantly—the foundation on which every stage, every award, and every paycheck rests.
The second: Empathy is not optional. A superstar who cannot pause long enough to consider that a fan might be grieving, ill, exhausted, or battling something unseen is a superstar who has forgotten the humanity at the core of all art.
The third: Professionalism is currency. Arriving late, publicly shaming fans, halting shows, and weaponizing power in moments of irritation are choices that corrode trust. And once trust is broken, even a global superstar can watch ticket sales collapse in real-time.
Burna Boy is an extraordinary artist—brilliant, groundbreaking, and influential. His musical legacy is secure. But greatness in artistry is not the same as greatness in character. Fame tests the latter far more than it rewards it. And the spotlight, no matter how bright, does not protect anyone from the consequences of their own behavior.Humility is the anchor that keeps greatness from drifting into delusion. Burna Boy’s current storm is a brutal reminder that talent without restraint can become tyranny, and fame without introspection can become a curse. Artists rise because people believe in them, invest in them, and support them. When that respect is abused, loyalty evaporates. The lesson is stark: the higher the pedestal, the harder the fall—and the fall always comes. What matters is not the applause you command, but the humanity you maintain long after the music stops.
♦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
- Turnout, Trust, and Ground Game: What Decided Houston’s Runoff Elections - December 14, 2025
- When Power Doesn’t Need Permission: Nigeria and the Collapse of a Gambian Coup Plot - December 14, 2025
- Nigeria–Burkina Faso Rift: Military Power, Mistrust, and a Region Out of Balance - December 14, 2025
Leadership across nations is shaped not only by policies but by the quality of the individuals at the helm. History has shown that the most transformative leaders often draw from deep wells of ethical, philosophical, and strategic thought. Yet, in many African countries—and Nigeria in particular—there appears to be a crisis in the kind of men elevated to govern. This deficit is not merely political; it is intellectual, philosophical, and deeply structural.
There is a compelling correlation between the absence of foundational wisdom and the type of leaders Nigeria consistently produces. Compared to their counterparts in other parts of the world, Nigerian leaders often appear fundamentally unprepared to govern societies in ways that foster justice, progress, or stability.
Consider the Middle East—nations like the UAE and Qatar—where governance is often rooted in Islamic principles. While these societies are not without flaws, their leaders have harnessed religious teachings as frameworks for nation-building, modern infrastructure, and citizen welfare. Ironically, many of Nigeria’s military and political leaders also profess Islam, yet the application of its ethical standards in public governance is nearly non-existent. This raises a troubling question: is the practice of religion in African politics largely symbolic, devoid of actionable moral guidance?
Take China as another case study. In the last four decades, China’s leadership has lifted over 800 million people out of poverty—an unprecedented feat in human history. While authoritarian in structure, China’s model demonstrates a deep philosophical commitment to collective progress, discipline, and strategic long-term planning. In Western democracies, especially post-World War II, leaders often emerged with strong academic backgrounds in philosophy, economics, or history—disciplines that sharpen the mind and cultivate vision.
In stark contrast, African leaders—particularly in Nigeria—are more often preoccupied with short-term political survival than long-term national transformation. Their legacy is frequently one of mismanagement, unsustainable debt, and structural decay. Nigeria, for example, has accumulated foreign loans that could take generations to repay, yet there is little visible infrastructure or social development to justify such liabilities. Inflation erodes wages, and basic public services remain in collapse. This cycle repeats because those in power often lack not just technical competence, but the moral and intellectual depth to lead a modern nation.
At the heart of the crisis is a lack of philosophical inquiry. Philosophy teaches reasoning, ethics, and the nature of justice—skills that are essential for public leadership. Nigerian leaders, by and large, are disconnected from such traditions. Many have never seriously engaged with political theory, ethical discourse, or economic philosophy. Without this grounding, leadership becomes a matter of brute power, not enlightened governance.
The crisis of leadership in Africa is not solely one of corruption or bad policy—it is one of intellectual emptiness. Until African nations, especially Nigeria, begin to value and cultivate leaders who are intellectually rigorous and philosophically grounded, the continent will remain caught in cycles of poverty and poor governance. True leadership requires more than charisma or military rank—it demands the wisdom to govern a society with justice, vision, and moral clarity. Without this, the future remains perilously fragile.
♦ Dominic Ikeogu is a social and political commentator based in Minneapolis, USA.
- Turnout, Trust, and Ground Game: What Decided Houston’s Runoff Elections - December 14, 2025
- When Power Doesn’t Need Permission: Nigeria and the Collapse of a Gambian Coup Plot - December 14, 2025
- Nigeria–Burkina Faso Rift: Military Power, Mistrust, and a Region Out of Balance - December 14, 2025
Turnout, Trust, and Ground Game: What Decided Houston’s Runoff Elections
When Power Doesn’t Need Permission: Nigeria and the Collapse of a Gambian Coup Plot
Nigeria–Burkina Faso Rift: Military Power, Mistrust, and a Region Out of Balance
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When Power Doesn’t Need Permission: Nigeria and the Collapse of a Gambian Coup Plot
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