A Heartfelt Letter to a Great Thinker

I have been thinking about how to write this letter to you, Prof. I wish there was a better way to reach you. It is not that I doubt what I need to say. It is just that I feel a bit small reaching out to someone so wise. It is not easy to talk to someone whose words have shaped how I think and who I have admired for so long.

It is uncomfortable to tell someone you respect that you see things differently on some issues. It feels a bit like telling a father that he may have missed the right path. But maybe real respect means not staying silent. Sometimes it takes courage to speak the truth, especially when those who admire you might be too scared to do so.

Also, we both come from respected backgrounds. I find it funny. Maybe that makes this chat a bit more complicated yet familiar. As chiefs, we should not keep quiet when another chief seems to miss the point. We can admire the Bùbá, respect the Abẹ̀tí-ajá, and honor their legacy. But at times, someone must find the courage to say, “Bàbá, ẹ má ṣọ́ra kí ẹ má bà a kọsẹ̀.”

I have been curious about the “Reverend” part in this situation. I have always thought of Kongi as someone who prefers the company of Orishas over priests. So, I am a bit puzzled about how this letter was influenced by a priest of a foreign God.

You might not know this, but the last time I wrote you a tribute, some of your boys were very excited. They tried to welcome me with open arms. A few even greeted me with an enthusiastic “Ahoy!” I just went with it rather than explain that they probably mistook admiration for membership. I hope this time, they don’t call me a killjoy and ask for my head.

I have read your entire letter. And, Professor, I have to admit I found it a bit hard to get through. This is not a complaint. Anyone who has read your work knows that Soyinka doesn’t just write a sentence. He takes that sentence on a journey across continents before bringing it back home to explain its travels. But under all the literary flair lies an important issue that needs serious discussion.

You talk about how public discussions have declined and call Nigeria a “Republic of Liars.” I agree with you on that. Our public conversation has turned toxic, nasty, and careless about facts. People make up statements, claim they came from public figures, share them on social media, and get angry about things they created. That is dishonest!

As an Igbo person, it pains me when I hear people casually call you a bigot. It hurts because history shows that, at a time when it would have been easy to stay silent, you stood against the Biafra genocide. You paid a heavy price for that, including losing your freedom. Ẹ má bínú o!

But, Professor, the truth is this is not a new problem in Nigeria. We have always loved to throw mud, but you were mostly shielded from it, and rightly so, because of what you stood for. What has changed is that many now see you as being in a different place than before. That may be why some of that shield has come off.

I understand why the younger generation is upset. Your generation had the best of Nigeria, yet you protested. Think of those born after all these tough years, with no hope, no dreams, and no future. The late Pius Adesanmi called them the Impella generation; they were thrown into the world right after birth. It’s hard to imagine the anger and betrayal they feel, and that is why they lash out. You became collateral damage in their fight against a system they see you as part of.

For most of my adult life, Nigerians saw you as the true independent voice. You criticized governments because they deserved it, not because you were on anyone's side. You could argue with one government today and another tomorrow, and no one would think Soyinka was in anyone’s political camp. I worry that this perception has changed.

Maybe that judgment is not fair to you. Perhaps you have changed your approach. Maybe, as you said in your letter, you think some issues are not worth your response. You have the right to choose that. But how people see you matters. In public life, how things look often becomes a reality.

When someone who has spent their life questioning governments suddenly seems to hold back when the government is led by a personal friend, people will ask questions. They might be wrong about your intentions, but their questions are understandable.

This is where I fear your current path may hurt the great legacy you have built. Professor, I must say this. Parts of your letter reminded me of Chief Obasanjo’s denials about his third-term ambitions. The more he denied it, the more Nigerians talked about it. Sometimes, the more one insists there is no elephant in the room, the more people look for the elephant.

And then there is Peter Obi.

I noticed you focused a lot on the claim that you said Peter Obi should not contest. I get why that would upset you. A man who has defended democracy would not like to be seen as trying to stop a political opponent. I believe you did not say that. I can bet my life on it.

You did, however, admit that you think Peter Obi is not fit to lead Nigeria. That is your opinion, but it is still just that. This is where I think you may not fully grasp the reaction. When a public figure makes a political statement, especially about who is fit to lead a country, people will naturally ask: WHY?

Some will agree with you. Others will disagree. Some will be respectful. Others, especially the Gen Zs and millennials raised on social media, will disagree loudly. That is just how it is.

People will compare the candidate you rejected with the one you have long supported. They will ask how you decided one is not suitable while the other gets your patience. You may think the question is unfair, but it is not hard to understand.

Professor, I hope you will think about this. There is no honor in publicly attacking a man who has treated you with kindness. Since Obi did not fight back, a wild and fierce group came to his defense. If you keep attacking, I fear they will keep dragging you along. People often sympathize with the one who seems to be the victim.

Another point to consider is that Peter Obi cannot be blamed for everyone who calls themselves an “Obidient.” That group, like any large political one, has reasonable and unreasonable members. It would not be fair to hold him accountable for foolish things said in his name.

Many activists wonder how a wealthy businessman, who has never faced police brutality, became the face of a national struggle. I know, and I sometimes wonder too. But, Prof, God chooses leaders in His own way. It might seem strange, but how do we argue that? I compare Obi's choice to how a woman chooses whom to love. It is not that she does not see the worth of others; she just follows her feelings.

We often forget that the Obidient movement is not just about Obi as a person. It is largely young Nigerians expressing their anger against a system they feel has been unfair to them. They see Peter Obi as a means to fight that system, but the movement is not only about him.

Also, Professor, you have spent so much of your life confronting governments. Don’t let a noisy army of social media users, who do not deserve your attention, ruin your great image. Now, let’s talk about friendship.

Professor, Nigerians know the history, despite what some may try to erase. Your bond with the man you call oloríkunkun (“the stubborn one”) goes back years, through the tough times resisting Abacha. You both faced exile, danger, and a regime that showed no mercy. You have also mentioned the help he and his wife gave you during hard times.

That history matters. Friendship matters. Gratitude matters. Friendship can put you in tough spots because the debt feels emotional, not financial. An old friend does not need to ask for your support. Sometimes, simply being friends urges you to stand up for them. That is why the saying about choosing friends wisely is so true.

Enemies attack openly. Friends can put you in situations where you later find out that loyalty has a price. Every deep friendship carries an implicit “I owe you.” The danger comes when that debt stops you from saying, “My friend, you are wrong.” I am not saying this is what has happened to you.

I am just pointing out that many Nigerians now believe this has happened.

And that belief is important.

You deserve to be judged by your entire life, not just by how you relate to one president at a given time. You have fought too hard against bad governments to let the final chapters of your public life be viewed mainly through your bond with one president. That would be a harsh twist of fate.

You once taught many Nigerians that true independence means having the courage to speak against power, even when that power comes from someone you know or love. Maybe the best thing you can do now is to avoid battles that bring you down. Professor, you have nothing to prove anymore.

You have already fought the good fight. You have faced dictatorship, exile, persecution, disappointment, and betrayal. You have written enough to fill many lifetimes. You have earned the right to choose how to spend your remaining energy. So, please, Professor, save some of that energy for what truly matters.

Nigeria needs your literary talent. It needs your historical insight. It needs your fearlessness, your courage, your tough questions, and your ability to keep power on its toes. But maybe it does not need you caught up in every political fight on Twitter, Facebook, or wherever the latest online battleground is. You reminded us in your letter that sometimes silence can be powerful. I agree.

And maybe you, of all people, should not have to spend your later years explaining why you are still the same person who challenged power in your youth. I say this not as a critic, but as one of the many Nigerians who still hold you in great esteem.

We may not always agree with you. We may question you. We may even tell you, with respect, when we think you have gone off track. But we do this because we care about the man whose voice has taught generations to question, resist, and speak up.

You have given Nigeria more than your fair share.

Prof., let me remind you of what happened on 15 October, 1965, when, at 31, a mystery gunman entered the well-guarded NBC. You were protesting the rigged Western Regional election that favored Chief SL Akintola. You famously said, “Akintola, go! Drop your stolen mandate, leave town, and take your reprobates with you.” Today, I encourage you to leave those reprobates behind. They only dress you up in garlands and then use your image to clean up their mess. That is why Achebe avoided them and turned down their coronation.

Please do not let friendship, politics, or social media arguments overshadow the final chapters of your remarkable life story. Let the politicians handle their politics. Leave the squabbles of today for today. Give us Kongi.

I believe I have shared what I needed to say, perhaps not perfectly, but sincerely and with deep respect. Now that I have said it, I feel lighter in my heart.

Whatever happens, I hope you receive these words as they are meant: not as rebellion against an elder, but as loyalty to the man whose voice has taught many of us to question, resist, and speak out.