I mourn for Nigeria’s heroes of democracy, both the living and the dead. The recent honors bestowed by President Tinubu on them have left a bitter taste. Wole Soyinka, a literary giant, now shares the same honor as Godswill Akpabio, a symbol of political expediency. Frank Kokori’s posthumous recognition brings him alongside Nyesom Wike, a man whose democratic credentials are nebulous at best. The celebration of sacrifice with the very cheap tools used for political patronage is demeaning. Nigeria, it seems, has bastardized everything sacred. But since we have no pure garlands, why subject the  dead to our tainted and promiscuous ceremonies?

When Tinubu announced the awards, lawmakers rose to sing the international anthem of sycophancy. Beko Ransome-Kuti must have hissed in his grave. Pastor Tunde Bakare had baptized that song at Easter when he warned of the resurrection of dictatorship with the degeneration of the national assembly into a political sewage chamber. The parliament, once a bastion of democratic ideals, has become a stage for court jesters tumbling over themselves, vying to entertain  a pompous presidency.

To add insult to the  injury of the dead, Democracy Day was not celebrated at Eagle Square, a symbol of national unity, but within the walls of a parliament pledging perpetual allegiance to Tinubu—a cruel irony for a day meant to honor freedom. The shift seems  a deliberate ploy to drape  the names of the heroes over the flawed over a purulent institution. The futity of putting a  lipstick on a pig. The lawmakers  reveled in  the occasion, perhaps savoring a rare brush with morality. The visible smugness of a never-do-well when he resists all temptations and returns a lost but found item. Yet, many, simultaneously, twerking so hard  for Tinubu,  perhaps regretting their lack of creativity, might have wished they had worn Tinubu’s mask instead of just his cap to stand out in their fawning competition.

I grieve  for Kudirat, Rewane, and other martyrs of democracy. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but the democratic project for which they spilled their blood is now in the hands of impostors who chant ‘democracy’ while installing the beams and bricks of despotism. The ‘Hope’ slogan that has been usurped and trivialized. Hope is manifests itself in the occasional distribution of a few cups of rice per household. Many political enforcers, modern-day Sergeant Rogers, have been unleashed on the democratic process, dismantling opposition parties, demolishing checks and balances, and defeating the rule of law.

The baton of democracy has fallen into the gutter. Today’s equivalents of Kudirat and Rewane would have trembled and tucked in their tails before Abacha. Or negotiated at night for a political appointment, selling their birthright and the country, defecting to the tyrant, claiming “family ties” or “national interest.” Moles, not heroes, are now the bearers of torch of democracy.

Posthumous national honors, meant as consolatory recognition, are now a provocative sham. I feel for James Bagauda Kaltho. He was awarded an OON posthumously. Wike and Ganduje hold higher honors—and may soon receive GCON at the rate and direction Tinubu is travelling . These honors are no longer laurels but stained flowers, unfit for those who laid down their lives. The Nation must  create and preserve a  distinct class of honors for true heroes.

In 2004, Chinua Achebe rejected the honor of Commander of the Federal Republic for the first time. He accused President Obasanjo of engaging in  motor park politics and conniving with political bandits who kidnapped a sitting state governor and, having failed to force his resignation, set thugs on the state capital to decimate it.

Here are Chinua Achebe’s exact words:

“For some time now I have watched events in Nigeria with alarm and dismay. I have watched particularly the chaos in my own state of Anambra where a small clique of renegades, openly boasting its connections in high places, seems determined to turn my homeland into a bankrupt and lawless fiefdom. I am appalled by the brazenness of this clique and the silence, if not connivance, of the Presidency. Forty-three years ago, at the first anniversary of Nigeria’s independence, I was given the first Nigerian National Trophy for Literature. In 1979, I received two further honors – the Nigerian National Order of Merit and the Order of the Federal Republic – and in 1999 the first National Creativity Award. I accepted all these honors fully aware that Nigeria was not perfect; but I had a strong belief that we would outgrow our shortcomings under leaders committed to uniting our diverse peoples. Nigeria’s condition today under your watch is, however, too dangerous for silence. I must register my disappointment and protest by declining to accept the high honor awarded me in the 2004 Honours List.”

Achebe rejected the honor again under President Jonathan, saying the government was brazenly corrupt. If he were alive today, Achebe would likely see Tinubu’s actions—particularly in Rivers State—as surpassing the infamy of the Uba scandal. Tinubu’s lax approach to corruption makes Jonathan’s era, once lambasted, seem tame by comparison.

I am convinced that Nigeria’s fallen heroes, if they could speak, would reject these posthumous awards. Their sacrifices were for a democratic ideal, not this parody of governance. Tinubu’s administration, visionless and blind to its shortcomings , calls on the youth to bet on Nigeria. But they flee in droves, seeking hope elsewhere. The dead cannot speak, but their legacy screams betrayal. As for the living recipients, some of whom have metamorphosed into the very forces they once opposed, complicit in the erosion of the democracy they fought for, they must speak for themselves.

Nigeria’s heroes deserve better than tainted medals and hollow ceremonies. Their sacrifices demand a nation that upholds justice, accountability, and true democracy—not one that rewards sycophancy and undermines its own foundations. Until that day, these honors will remain a mockery, a painful reminder of a dream deferred.