On 30th May 2018, then Imo State Governor, Rochas Okorocha added a new word to the vocabulary of politics in Nigeria. Explaining the nature of the democracy being practiced in our country on a Channels Television programme, Okorocha told his interviewer, Ladi Akeredolu-Ale, “If you come to my state and I have collected N500 billion, yet I can only show you boreholes and renovation of schools, but I can perfect the papers, that is Iberiberism.” Obviously baffled by the word he was hearing for the first time, Akeredolu-Ale asked Okorocha to explain what he meant. He got a crisp response: “Go and search for it in the dictionary.”

Of course, there was no such word in the English dictionary at the time. But it has since been established that Okorocha coined it from the Igbo word, Iberibe, which means deceit. And with linguists taking up his challenge, Urbandictionary.com has defined ‘Iberiberism’ as a “political ideology based on lack of substance, mediocrity, platitude and corporate greed.” In a milieu where political parties have been reduced to ‘coalitions’ of strange bedfellows devoid of any ideal beyond grabbing or retaining power, who can fault Okorocha’s summation?

Four years ago, I started a book I thought would be released last year to mark the quarter of a century of unbroken democratic rule in Nigeria. With the rider, ‘25 Defining Issues in 25 Years of Civil Rule in Nigeria (1999—2024)’, I felt there could be no better working title than ‘Democracy by Iberiberism’. Although the book was 80 percent completed, I eventually suspended work on it in April last year when I became distracted by other commitments and could not keep most interview appointments. Quite naturally, one of the people I interviewed was Okorocha who admitted coining ‘Iberiberism’ from the Igbo word Iberibe and justified it with what he described as a lack of vision that defines both the public and private engagements in our country. “In Nigeria today, nobody is interested in how to get the job done, the emphasis is always on perfecting the paperwork,” Okorocha insisted. “That’s why what you find in every facet of our national life is Iberiberism.”

I spent almost an hour with Okorocha, probing this strange but interesting concept and he had a lot to say, including illustrating his points with practical examples. There were also pushbacks, especially when I challenged his own ‘Iberiberistic’ dispositions as Imo State Governor. I reminded him of his failed attempt to anoint son-in-law, Uche Nwosu, as his successor. A smooth talker with an incredible sense of humour, Okorocha is difficult to pin down, but he made some compelling arguments on the situation in Nigeria. While other societies seek leaders with vision and imagination at all levels and spheres of life, according to Okorocha, “Nigerians are still trapped with making their choices based on certain primordial considerations. And because these leaders cannot give what they do not have, the system is now reeking with Iberiberism.”

Let me state from the outset that in the last 26 years, Nigeria has made considerable strides in many areas—even if we are not where we would want to be. First, the telephone that we were gleefully told “is not for the poor” by the military leaders of a certain era is now in the hands of almost every Nigerian, thanks to a transparent auction process that inevitably revolutionised the sector and the economy. The two banking reforms of 2004 and 2008 by Chukwuma Soludo and Muhammadu Sanusi II have helped to put Nigerian banks on a sound footing. You only need to travel across the West African subregion to appreciate how robust our banking sector has become. Meanwhile, contrary to the apprehensions expressed at epochal moments, Nigeria earned the applause of the world with the manner we handled the Ebola Virus crisis in 2014 and the Covid-19 pandemic in 2020. From the debt deal to the Niger Delta amnesty, to the recent removal of subsidies in the downstream sector of the petroleum industry, there have been fundamental developments in our country under the current democratic dispensation.

However, the more Okorocha expanded on the concept of ‘Iberiberism’, the more it also became clear to me that his description of the situation in our country today is apt. Especially against the background of how we have mismanaged the issues of identity and social fabrics, the struggle for power and control, human rights and the rule of law, as well as the challenge of transparency and accountability and the growing number of our citizens who live below the poverty line. Even though Nigeria retains the apparatus of a functioning state, it is obvious that the system has been rigged against the majority of our people. When you add how sundry cartels of criminal gangs have conspired to take our country by the jugular, the lack of electricity despite spending billions of dollars on the sector, the number of our young citizens who now ‘Japa’ either through the normal channels or the life-or-death route across the Sahara Desert and Mediterranean Sea, you get the picture of a country trapped in ‘Iberiberism’. These are some of the defining issues in the last 26 years captured in the uncompleted book. Hopefully, I will return to it in the coming years.

But I am not going to read from the book of lamentations today. As we mark 26 years of unbroken civil rule, it is worth noting that the current democratic dispensation didn’t come as a gift. It was wrestled from the iron grip of military dictators through blood, tears, and sacrifice. Even reporters like me have tales to tell. But there were many who paid the ultimate price: Kudirat Abiola, Bagauda Kaltho, Alfred Rewane, Shehu Musa Yar’Adua and far too many others whose names may never make the headlines. Perhaps as a reminder of how far we’ve come, a senior professional colleague and former House of Representatives member, Abdul Oroh has chosen to publicly present his memoir, ‘Demonstration of Craze: Struggles and Transition to Democracy in Nigeria’, today in Abuja. The book offers a compelling narrative of the tortuous path to civil rule in Nigeria and the role of many actors. Rich in anecdotes and flowing prose, reading through the 614 pages reminded me of the courage and tenacity of ordinary Nigerians and civil society activists who stood up to military brutality at great personal risk.

A journalist who later became Executive Director of the Civil Liberties Organization (CLO) before transitioning to politics, Oroh documents the intense struggles against the military juntas of Muhammadu Buhari, Ibrahim Babangida and the late Sani Abacha. What stands out in his account is the relentless assault on democratic values during that era. The annulment of the June 12 (1993) presidential election—now belatedly confirmed to have been won by the late MKO Abiola—remains a defining moment in our political history. The subsequent crackdown on dissent, which Oroh captures, illustrates the steep price paid for the democracy we enjoy today. Oroh also explores the complex relationship between domestic agitation and external pressure, particularly under Abacha when Nigeria became a pariah state.

Twenty-six years later, how well have we fared? Oroh’s narrative suggests a gradual disconnect between the people and the political class that emerged post-1999. The struggle that began as a people’s movement became hijacked by opportunists, many of whom were in bed with the military and had no genuine commitment to democratic ideals. Oroh’s transition from activist to legislator and later commissioner in Edo State offers interesting insights into the challenges of governance in Nigeria. He reveals some of the entrenched interests that continue to undermine our democratic experiment.

In his book, the reporter in Oroh shines through. He takes the reader behind-the-scenes to reveal how godfathers operate while also explaining the intrigues involved in the role of a ‘placeholder’—a recent Nigerian invention in political surrogacy. With his background as a reporter, it is no surprise that Oroh’s recollections are very insightful. But he started by recounting the role played by Olisa Agbakoba, SAN, in the birth of what became a vibrant human rights activism in Nigeria as well as that by Clement Nwankwo, Ayo Obe, Femi Falana, Emma Ezeazu, Mike Ozhekhome and many others. “The story that Oroh tells is a unique personal and collective tale, reminiscent of Fela Anikulapo’s rhapsodic critiques of Nigeria’s democracy,” renowned academic, Professor Olu Obafemi wrote in his blurb. “The book is a work borne out of concrete lived experience and vivid imagination.”

The struggles chronicled in Oroh’s memoir remind us that democracy is not a destination but a journey that requires continued engagement. Yet, as things stand, the ‘demonstration of craze’ that characterized the pro-democracy movement in the eighties and nineties may need to be rekindled if we are to rescue our country from those who see politics merely as a path to power and privilege. As we therefore celebrate this milestone of 26 years of unbroken civil rule, we must recommit to the ideals that inspired the struggle against military dictatorship in Nigeria. We must insist on free and fair elections, respect for human rights, transparency in governance, and accountability from our leaders. We must also remember that democracy is not merely about periodic elections but about creating a society where every citizen has a voice and where government truly derives its legitimacy from the consent of the people.

May the sacrifices of those who fought for our democracy never be in vain. And may we find the courage to complete the unfinished business of building an egalitarian society that is devoid of ‘Iberiberism’.

The Ghost of June 12

Between 1991 and 1998, I authored three self-published books (Fortress on Quicksand, Poli-tricks and Abiola’s Travails) on the various contradictions in the transition to civil rule programmes of Generals Babangida and Abacha. I added a fourth, ‘The Last 100 Days of Abacha’ six years after the military left power. Although written at different moments, these four books capture distinct yet interwoven aspects of the bizarre political process that shattered the peace of our country. Combined, they piece together the threads of those turbulent years. Titled, ‘The Ghost of June 12’, the book will be released on June 16 this year. Compiling these books into one is significant given the demographics of Nigeria. With over 70 percent of our population under the age of 30, it means that most of our citizens were born after the ‘June 12’ fiasco of 1993. But the book is more than a recounting of events. It is a reminder of where we have been and how easily history can repeat itself if we are not vigilant.