Why I am the way I am: Acknowledging Nigeria’s progress, by Kayode Adebiyi

I never meant to write about this, but I decided to after reading a post Olajide Abiola shared, written by Eketti about how you can become a sponge soaking in everything you expose or surround yourself with. Without realizing it, you lose yourself to the extent that you begin to act like what you continually gaze upon.

After reading many of my posts on Facebook over the past few months, a friend called me a few days ago. He sent me a message first, asking me to let him know when I was free because he wanted to have a discussion with me.

I called him back immediately and told him I was free to talk. He then asked, “What is your motivation that makes you support most actions of the government, and most importantly, why does it seem that everything about Nigeria is okay for you in the midst of hopelessness and suffering?”

He further reminded me of how I used to act in the past and how I was anti-establishment. He recalled how I labelled myself a human and civil rights activist and fighter. Then, he asked, “What is your motivation? I know you too well to think you are the type of person to be bought or paid to do all you do on Facebook.” Of course, we had a long talk, and after over an hour of conversation, he understood where I was coming from.

I grew up in the military era with only a sprinkle of civilian rule between 1979 and 1983. Therefore, I grew up in an era where disliking and being distasteful towards the military government was a point of pride. I read books and newspapers voraciously.

Everything about the likes of Gani Fawehinmi, Femi Falana, Olu Onagoruwa, Beko Ransome-Kuti, Ayo Obe, etc., interested me. I was an activist in mind and soul. I joined the CLO student’s wing and attended rallies of CLO, CD, etc.

I loved the fact that my late Uncle, Bishop Adebiyi, was labeled the NADECO Bishop because of his stand against the annulment of June 12, and the occasional visits from the SSS at that time to question him about what he said against the military junta when he preached on Sundays fascinated me.

I was everything anti-establishment. June 12 made me angry, and I joined almost every protest called against the annulment of June 12 in Lagos. I almost got killed at Oshodi-Oke when soldiers started shooting sporadically at the protesters. The killings of the likes of Kudirat, Alfred Rewane, etc., and ultimately Abiola’s death affected me deeply.

Everything I soaked in was activism. I remember trying to trace the NADECO route to Benin Republic when I was going to help my brother-in-law buy a car in Cotonou. Anyone who was anti-military or anti-establishment was my hero!

Gani could never do any wrong; I revered Femi Falana and the likes of Egbon Richard Akinnola and Beko. In those days, whenever Gani was to be arraigned in court, I would find my way there just to be an onlooker and join others to sing “solidarity forever.”

I always hailed Sowore despite never meeting him one-on-one. I loved his activism and irrepressible spirit as a very young student at Unilag. His boldness and rash behavior towards the establishment were, to me, the real deal. I was totally consumed!

When Nigeria finally returned to democratic governance, I carried that activist spirit into our democratic experience. I attacked Obasanjo on almost every issue. Some of us had been made to believe that once democracy came, Nigeria would become heaven on earth.

I hailed Obasanjo when he sacked hundreds of military men who had been politically exposed. But I became impatient when democratic rule was not delivering what I had envisioned. The aluta spirit would not let me rest. I became ridiculously anti-establishment and anti-government because I realized my expectations for Nigeria were not being met.

The fact is, the people and philosophies I surrounded myself with over the years had a profound impact on me without me realizing it. Humans are highly impressionable by nature, and the behaviours, attitudes, and ways of thinking of those we spend time with—or consume their thoughts and actions—can subtly shape our own thoughts and actions. It’s almost like we’re constantly absorbing the energy, emotions, and perspectives of others, sometimes without fully processing or understanding why we feel the way we do.

Once Gani or Falana, and later Keyamo, disagreed with any government action, I would dogmatically react with anger and frustration toward such actions by the government. The danger in this lies in not taking the time to pause and ask myself why I was behaving in a certain way or why I felt a certain emotion. It’s easy to lose sight of your own core beliefs and values in the mix of all the external influences.

The turning point for me came when someone lent me Lee Kuan Yew’s autobiography, From Third World to First. That book totally changed my perspective, especially on how a democratic government can never be a cut-and-paste or drive-through kind of government that delivers the goods to millions of people in a jiffy. He talked about how, before the government can change a nation, it first needs to change the mind of the people because government is not magic, and those who govern the people are human too.

Lee Kuan Yew, the founding father of modern Singapore, was very clear in his views about radical activism and its potential negative effects on a nation’s development. His leadership philosophy was grounded in pragmatism, stability, and a belief in building a nation through systematic, well-planned policies. He had a deep understanding of the importance of governance and social order in nation-building, and he often expressed scepticism about radical activism that could disrupt that process.

According to Lee Kuan Yew, radical activism, which often involves protests and attempts to overturn existing systems, could lead to social and political instability. In his view, too much disruption could hinder the growth and development of a nation. He was particularly concerned about movements that rejected the established systems without offering clear alternatives or realistic plans for improvement. For him, activism had to be channelled in a way that worked within the existing framework to improve society, not tear it apart.

This statement was what totally changed me from an arbitrary critic to a rational one: “Movements that rejects established systems without offering clear alternatives or realistic plans for improvement is a great danger to any nation.” By the time I finished Lee Kuan Yew’s book, I was reborn. Realistically speaking, this is the reason why most radical activists never become great politicians or government leaders. Governance is not activism, and it can never be!

Up till now, you often see activists like Sowore and even Oga Femi Falana grandstanding on national TV while they advocate for sudden, radical shifts in society, wrap personal opinions in the garb of constitutionality, against the need for incremental and systemic changes. Yew was wary of activists who called for drastic changes without fully considering the consequences.

Lee believed that systemic change—changes that were thought out, planned, and carefully implemented—was the only way to ensure sustainable progress. Radical actions might achieve short-term headlines, but they risked creating long-term instability. He often pointed to historical examples where radical movements brought chaos, which, in turn, set back progress and development.

Rome was never built in a day. Nations are built and developed block by block over years, and no matter how much you decry the actions of a government, they are initiating growth in one way or another. In 2014, no Nigerian could ride a train from Lagos to Ibadan or from Aladja to Warri, but today that is possible.

The primary responsibility of a government is to build a nation that could stand the test of time. This means creating solid institutions, implementing policies that ensure the welfare of citizens, and fostering an environment conducive to economic growth and social harmony. This will never happen in a day. If you think Nigeria is worse off, go back and live in pre-1999 and you will see that despite all, Nigeria is making progress.

Radical activism threatens the process of governance by creating divisions and distractions. Lee Kuan Yew believed a leader needed to focus on long-term goals—such as economic development, education, and social cohesion—not on constantly appeasing populist demands or engaging with every protest or movement that might arise.

What radical activism and the mob do is create a sense of “us vs. them” that disrupts the unity and harmony required for a successful nation. If there is one radical activist who has been able to transition quite well in Nigeria, it is Festus Keyamo.

I have never met him, but I believe that, just like me with my old irrepressible spirit, he came to the conclusion that to develop an egalitarian society, we have to use the vehicle of government, and this vehicle does not move so fast. Constitutional democratic governance is not a Formula One racing vehicle.

Governance must be marked by pragmatism—it must not rely on emotions and ideologies that could easily spiral out of control and result in disorder. While constructive criticism is necessary for the development of good policies in a democracy, it must be done within the framework of governance. Dissent must be expressed in a way that contributes to the betterment of the country, not in ways that cause division and chaos, as some of our compatriots always seek.

Nation-building is a slow, deliberate process that requires vision, patience, and a steady hand from leadership. There’s no “magic wand” or quick fix for creating a successful and prosperous nation. It’s about laying the foundation over years, sometimes decades, and working systematically to improve the country’s institutions, economy, and society. Leaders who promise rapid, drastic change without understanding the complexity of governance often set themselves up for failure, as they may overlook the necessary groundwork required for sustainable development.

Lee Kuan Yew’s transformation of Singapore from a developing, post-colonial nation into one of the world’s most prosperous, stable, and advanced economies is a remarkable example of this slow and steady approach. It took Lee and his team years of focused, pragmatic policymaking, and strategic development. He understood that you couldn’t build a strong nation overnight—especially one that would endure for generations.

Nigeria may not be where we all hope for her to be, but I can confidently say that we are far from where we used to be. Progress is being made, even if the naysayers choose not to acknowledge it.

–Adebiyi is a UK-based Nigerian and Public Relations practitioner