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Anthony Obi Ogbo

New Book, “Shred of Fear” Invokes a Provocative Recollection of the Biafran War

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3 years ago

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Nwokedi’s “Shred of Fear” masterfully captures a phenomenological account of a three-year hellish journey toward an unfulfilled dream of a promising nation, Biafra. —Anthony Ogbo

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The machinery of childhood memories remains a mystery grounded in neurological maturation, socialization, and other factors that often influence an individual’s recollection of momentous childhood events. In his book, Shred of Fear, Uche Nwokedi renders a memoir of his experiences living through the Biafran War (also known as the Nigerian Civil War). His recollection is unmatched and encompasses many critical moments unfamiliar to the current generation.

According to Nwokedi, “Childhood memories of that time remain indelibly etched into my psyche. Now and then, I see them in my mind’s eye, in shades of sepia, like old photographs from a family album.”

The author is confident about his memories of the war and explains their significance: “I treasure these memories and hold fast to them, as they are the watershed years of my journey in life so far. I fully embrace the emotions they evoke, with no apologies for what the child remembers.”

The story of the Biafran war is not new. Yet, a lot of events surrounding this bloody mayhem have not been told, and unfortunately, the advent of social media and technology innovation has not made telling the story about the great Biafran journey any easier. For instance, several analyses, books, and publications have pervaded the internet with Google-generated unsubstantiated content. Even some authors who fought in the war have rendered subjective accounts to appease specific social and political interests. Some activists equally went astray, creating Biafran war content to pursue their “We the people” agitation crusades.

Shred of Fear, however, is far from those. Shred is not a political written handout. It is not a children’s bedtime storybook. It is a masterful rendition of the Biafran War devoid of Google speculations. The author, a child at the time, creatively captures a phenomenological account of a three-year hellish journey toward an unfulfilled dream of a promising nation. Indeed, from beginning to end, Shred unloads from a unique perspective the very interesting and relatively unknown events that marked this horrific season.

But the most exciting and credible endorsement of this book comes from Chief Arthur Mbanefo, a commissioner and roving ambassador in Biafra (1967–1970). According to Chief Mbanefo, “As one who participated fully in the Biafra War, Shred of Fear is a powerful and vivid factual recollection of events that defined the war for the author. Written with such brilliant simplicity, one is taken on a journey of the changes in life in a time of war by the author. A must-read. Highly recommended!”

One remarkable aspect of this book is the author’s representation of Aba, the great Enyimba city, which he describes as “one of those quintessentially colonial Nigerian towns with all the hallmarks of a place with plenty of growth potential.” From Aba’s City Life to The Pound Road Bombing and finally, the “Fall of Aba,” the author paints a realistic picture of what transpired inside Biafra at the initial stage of the war. Again, here is the author:

“I saw pictures of mutilated bodies and they gave me the chills. To crown it all, there were constant mobs of angry young men running through the streets of Aba carrying leaves, crying for vengeance, and chanting in the Igbo language, “Ojukwu gives us a gun to defend ourselves.”

In addition to music, which became a therapeutic part of the culture in the Biafran land, the author recounts how air raids became the hallmark of this war. Killer fighter jets preyed on innocent masses at will. In his own words, Nwokedi writes, “We would see the MIGs [jet fighters] suddenly swoop down from the sun like hawks, fly low past the GRA [Government Reserved Area], bomb the town center and markets, climb back up into the sky and then leave as quickly as they had come.”

Another interesting aspect of this book is the author’s recollection of the Aburi Accord. On January 4 and 5, 1967, delegates and representatives from both the Federal Government of Nigeria and the Eastern Region, led by Lieutenant Colonel Emeka Ojukwu, met in Aburi, Ghana, to agree on what is now known as the Aburi Accord. This meeting at Aburi was supposed to be the last opportunity for both parties to resolve any conflict to prevent civil war.

Nwokedi approaches the Aburi Accord from a different perspective. He remembers how the phrase “On Aburi we stand” was widely chanted and adopted by everyone. “We heard older people say it often, and so we repeated it all the time as well. We loved the sound of it,” he narrates.

The book explores the genuineness of Biafra’s failed struggle. Consequently, its contents emit unprecedented historical relevance to a people, their strength, and a vision that was never accomplished.

The author’s account subtitled “The Line in the Sand” rightly indicates how the collapse of the Aburi Accord created a playing field for two warring combatants ready to terminate each other. Yet his final reflection on the collapse of this accord remains intelligible. He writes:

“Quite clearly, these two young soldiers escalated a war of words into an internecine war. With those conflicting clarion calls, the line in the sand was drawn, and the war began in earnest.”

The book explores the genuineness of Biafra’s failed struggle. Consequently, its contents emit unprecedented historical relevance to a people, their strength, and a vision that was never accomplished. As the author says, “The flickering light of Biafra had been unceremoniously snuffed out, but the darkness of defeat had not yet enveloped it. The sun was sinking, and we were drifting fast into the gloaming of defeat.”

In 14 chapters loaded with his candid recollection, the author does not ignore the political implications of the war, the lessons learned from the uncertainties that triggered the destructive duel, and where Nigeria currently stands. According to Nwokedi, “The Biafran War is long over, but the peace it won remains fragile and full of anxiety.” He continues, “We continue to live in anticipation of the promises of Nigeria.”

Shred of Fear is a superb memoir of a man who lived through the horrendous Biafran civil war as a child. Currently, Uche Nwokedi is an accomplished Nigerian author and lawyer, and Shred is not his first endeavor. He is also the writer and creative producer of the award-winning musical production Kakadu the Musical, which has toured Nigeria, Switzerland, and South Africa to great critical acclaim.

Order this book from Nigeria: >>>  |  Order this book from Amazon: >>>

♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Journalism and RTF 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

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Anthony Obi Ogbo

When Air Power Becomes a Christmas Performance: The Illusion of Success in Trump’s Nigerian Strike

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2 weeks ago

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December 28, 2025

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“Bombs alone do not defeat ideology. Precision without intelligence is noise.“ —Anthony Obi Ogbo

When President Trump announced his authorized United States air strike against ISIL (ISIS) fighters in northwest Nigeria on Christmas Day, there was an immediate burst of celebration on Nigerian social media. For a country exhausted by years of kidnappings, massacres, and territorial insecurity, the announcement sounded like long-awaited international support. Memes circulated, praise poured in, and some Nigerians hailed Trump as a decisive global sheriff finally willing to act where others hesitated.

But after the initial euphoria settled, a sobering assessment emerged: the strike appeared less like a strategic military intervention and more like a made-for-television spectacle designed to burnish Trump’s international strongman image.

This was not the first time the United States has launched air strikes in Africa or the Sahel under the banner of counterterrorism. From Libya to Somalia, from Syria to Yemen, U.S. “precision strikes” have often been announced with confidence and celebrated with press briefings—only for the targeted groups to regroup, mutate, and, in some cases, expand their reach. In Nigeria itself, years of foreign-backed security assistance have failed to decisively neutralize Boko Haram or its ISIS-affiliated offshoots. Instead, violence has fragmented, spread, and grown more complex.

No verifiable evidence has been produced to confirm high-value ISIS targets were eliminated

The Nigerian strike followed a familiar pattern. U.S. officials framed it as a blow against ISIS-West Africa Province (ISWAP), a group aligned with the global ISIS network. Trump’s language suggested a decisive intervention—an act of muscular diplomacy signaling that America still projects power where it chooses. Yet no verifiable evidence has been produced to confirm high-value ISIS targets were eliminated, leadership structures dismantled, or operational capacity degraded.

What followed was a digital smokescreen. Social media accounts, many anonymous and unverified, began circulating gruesome images of dead bodies and destroyed villages—photos long associated with banditry in Nigeria’s northwest. These images were quickly repurposed to “prove” the success of Trump’s strike. However, this is where the narrative falls apart under scrutiny.

Trump’s mission, as publicly stated, was to target ISIS. Not bandits. Not kidnappers. Not rural criminal gangs. ISIS is a transnational terrorist organization with ideological, financial, and operational links across continents. Bandits, by contrast, are primarily armed criminal groups—motivated by ransom, cattle theft, and territorial control, not global jihad. Conflating the two may be politically convenient, but it is analytically dishonest.

Killing or displacing bandits does not equate to dismantling ISIS. In fact, indiscriminate or poorly targeted air strikes often worsen the situation, pushing criminal groups to radicalize, splinter, or align with extremist factions for protection and legitimacy. This pattern has been observed repeatedly in conflict zones where military force substitutes for intelligence-driven strategy.

A truly successful counterterrorism raid is not measured by dramatic announcements or viral images. It is measured by clear, verifiable outcomes, including the confirmed elimination of high-ranking commanders, disruption of recruitment and financing networks, seizure of weapons caches, and—most importantly—sustained reductions in civilian attacks. None of these benchmarks has been credibly demonstrated in the aftermath of Trump’s Nigerian air strike.

Instead, Nigeria wakes up to the same grim reality: villages remain vulnerable, highways unsafe, and communities terrorized. The strike did not change the security equation. It did not empower Nigerian forces. It did not restore civilian confidence. And it certainly did not neutralize ISIS as a strategic threat.

This air strike offered Nigerians symbolism, not security.

In that sense, the air strike was not merely ineffective—it was a failure dressed in the language of strength, executed for optics, and amplified for political gain. It offered Nigerians symbolism, not security.

If the goal is truly to eliminate ISIS and its affiliates in West Africa, the path is neither theatrical nor unilateral. It requires robust intelligence sharing, sustained training, and real-time coordination with Nigerian and regional forces. It demands targeted arms assistance, logistical support, and investments in surveillance capabilities that allow local militaries to act decisively and lawfully. Above all, it requires a long-term commitment to strengthening state capacity—not fleeting air shows announced from afar.

Bombs alone do not defeat ideology. Precision without intelligence is noise. And celebration without results is self-deception. Trump’s Nigerian air strike may have produced headlines, but history will remember it for what it was: a failed mission masquerading as success.

♦ 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

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Anthony Obi Ogbo

Trump’s Nigeria Strike: Bombs, Boasts, and the Illusion of Victory

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2 weeks ago

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December 26, 2025

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“With Obama, Al-Qaeda was not eliminated by noise; it was suffocated by intelligence.“ —Anthony Obi Ogbo

It has now been confirmed that the United States acted in collaboration with Nigeria in the recent strike on Islamic State elements in northwest Nigeria. That cooperation deserves recognition. Intelligence-sharing between Washington and Abuja is necessary, overdue, and welcome. Terrorism is transnational; defeating it requires allies, not isolation.

But let us be clear: bombs alone do not defeat terror. And Donald Trump’s strike—trumpeted loudly on social media before facts, casualties, or strategy were disclosed—was less a turning point than a performance.

Trump’s announcement was a classic spectacle: “powerful,” “deadly,” “perfect strikes.” No numbers. No clarity. No accountability. Just noise. It was the same choreography America has deployed in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Libya, Yemen, and Somalia—places where U.S. airpower landed hard, headlines screamed victory, and instability deepened afterward. Violence escalated. Militancy adapted. Civilians paid the price.

History is unkind to airstrikes sold as solutions.

Nigeria knows this better than anyone. Long before Trump’s tweet, the Nigerian military had already conducted multiple operations in the same terror corridor. At least five major strikes and offensives stand out:

  • First, Operation Hadarin Daji, launched to dismantle bandit and terror camps across Zamfara, Katsina, and Sokoto, involving sustained air and ground assaults.
  • Second, Operation Tsaftan Daji, which targeted terrorist hideouts in the Kamuku and Sububu forests—precisely the terrain now in the headlines.
  • Third, repeated Nigerian Air Force precision strikes in the Zurmi–Shinkafi axis, neutralizing commanders and destroying logistics hubs.
  • Fourth, joint operations with Nigerien forces, disrupting cross-border supply routes used by ISIS-linked groups.
  • Fifth, recent coordinated offensives involving intelligence-led raids, special forces insertions, and follow-up ground clearing in the northwest.

These were not symbolic gestures. They were Nigerian-led, Nigerian-funded, Nigerian-executed. And yet, there were no fireworks on social media. No flag-waving hysteria. No intoxicated praise of Nigerian commanders as saviors of civilization.

Why? Because there is a dangerous segment of Nigerians who suffer from what can only be called the American Wonder mentality—a colonial hangover that applauds anything louder simply because it comes from Washington. The same Nigerians who ignore their own soldiers dying in silence suddenly abandon Christmas meals to celebrate Trump’s tweets, typing incoherent praise, mangling grammar, and mistaking spectacle for substance.

It is embarrassing. And it is intellectually lazy.

Terrorism is not defeated by volume or virality. It is defeated by intelligence—quiet, patient, unglamorous work. The United States knows this. Barack Obama understood it. Al-Qaeda was not dismantled through social media theatrics or chest-thumping declarations. It was weakened through intelligence fusion, financial disruption, targeted operations, local partnerships, and relentless pressure on leadership networks—mostly without fanfare.

Obama did not tweet. He acted. So what actually works against groups like ISIS in Nigeria?

First, intelligence supremacy. Human intelligence from local communities, defectors, and infiltrators matters more than bombs. Terror groups survive on secrecy. Break that, and they collapse.

Second, financial and logistical strangulation. Terrorists run on money, fuel, arms, and food. Cut access to smuggling routes, illicit mining, ransom flows, and cross-border trade, and their operational capacity withers.

Third, community stabilization and governance. Terrorism thrives where the state is absent. Roads, schools, policing, and justice systems matter. People who trust the state do not shelter terrorists.

Fourth, regional coordination, not episodic strikes. Nigeria, Niger, Chad, and Burkina Faso must sustain joint pressure, not reactive operations driven by headlines.

Airstrikes can support these strategies—but only as tools, never as substitutes.

Trump’s strike may have killed militants. It may have disrupted camps. That is commendable. But it is not a solution. It is a moment. And moments, without strategy, fade.

If Nigerians truly want terror defeated, they should stop worshiping foreign loudness and start demanding disciplined intelligence, consistent policy, and respect for the men and women already fighting on the ground.

Real victories are quiet. Real security is built, not tweeted.

♦ 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

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Texas’ 18th Congressional District Runoff: Amanda Edwards Deserves This Seat

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3 weeks ago

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December 18, 2025

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“Her persistence and long-term investment make a clear case: she has earned this opportunity.“ —Anthony Obi Ogbo

In the special election to fill Texas’s 18th Congressional District, no candidate won a majority on November 4, 2025, leading to a January 31, 2026, runoff between Democratic frontrunners Christian Menefee and Amanda Edwards. Menefee, Harris County Attorney, led the field with roughly 29% of the vote, while former Houston City Council member Edwards finished second with about 26%. Both are vying to represent a district left vacant after the death of U.S. Rep. Sylvester Turner.

The 18th Congressional District is far more than a geographic area. Anchored in Houston’s historic Black communities, it is a political and cultural stronghold shaped by civil rights history, faith institutions, and grassroots activism. Sheila Jackson Lee represented this district for nearly three decades (1995–2024), becoming more than a legislator—she was a constant presence at churches, funerals, protests, and community milestones. For residents, her leadership carried spiritual weight, reflecting stewardship, protection, and a deep, almost pastoral guardianship of the district. Her tenure symbolized continuity, cultural pride, and a profound connection with the people she served.

Houstonians watched as Jackson Lee entered the 2023 Houston mayoral race, attempting to transition from Congress to city leadership. Despite high-profile endorsements, including outgoing Mayor Sylvester Turner and national Democratic figures, she lost the December 9, 2023, runoff to State Senator John Whitmire by a wide margin. Following that defeat, Jackson Lee filed to run for re-election to her U.S. House seat, even as Edwards—who had briefly joined the mayoral race before withdrawing—remained in the congressional primary.

At that time, Jackson Lee’s health was visibly declining, yet voters still supported her, honoring decades of service. She defeated Edwards in the 2024 Democratic primary before announcing her battle with pancreatic cancer. Her passing in July 2024 left the seat vacant.

Edwards, already a candidate, sought to fill the seat, but timing and party rules intervened. Because Jackson Lee died too late for a regular primary, Harris County Democratic Party precinct chairs selected a replacement nominee. Former Houston Mayor Sylvester Turner, a retired but widely respected figure, narrowly edged out Edwards for the nomination, effectively blocking her despite her prior campaigning efforts. Turner won the general election but died in March 2025, triggering a special election in 2025, in which Edwards advanced to a runoff.

The January 31, 2026, runoff will hinge on turnout, coalition-building, and key endorsements. Both candidates led a crowded November field but fell short of a majority, with Menefee narrowly ahead. Endorsements such as State Rep. Jolanda Jones’ support for Edwards could consolidate key Democratic blocs, particularly among Black women and progressive voters. In a heavily Democratic district where voter confusion and turnout patterns have been inconsistent, the candidate who best mobilizes supporters and unites constituencies is likely to prevail.

Amanda Edwards’ case is compelling. Although both candidates share similar values and qualifications, her claim rests on dedication, consistency, and timing that have been repeatedly denied. She pursued this seat with focus and purpose, maintaining a steady commitment to the district and its future. Her path was interrupted by the prolonged political ambitions of Jackson Lee and Turner—figures whose stature reshaped the race but delayed generational transition. Edwards did not step aside; she remained visible, engaged, and prepared. In a moment demanding both continuity and renewal, her persistence and long-term investment make a clear case: she has earned this opportunity.

This race comes down to trust, perseverance, and demonstrated commitment. Amanda Edwards has consistently shown up for the district, even when political circumstances repeatedly delayed her chance. Her dedication reflects readiness, respect for the electorate, and an unwavering commitment to service. Voting for Amanda Edwards is not only justified—it is the right choice for Houston’s 18th Congressional District.

♦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

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