Nigeria Content Online

Is it something
deeply rooted in our DNA or is it something learned: this ability we
have to be aggressive about the most mundane of things but docile about
very important things? When a driver overtakes us on the road in a
manner we consider improper, or someone gives us a look we don’t like
or understand, or speaks to us in a manner we consider rude, the
average Nigerian will aggressively confront the behaviour he has
identified as unacceptable. Brawls on the streets and markets are
common place, as is the parlance, ‘do you know who I am’ once the
gloves are off.

Compare this to our
attitude when it comes to holding our leaders to account and demanding
good governance. On that score we are fast earning the reputation as
the most docile people on earth. We seem to have lost not only our
ability to feel outrage at the most outlandish things, but also the
stomach to speak out and if necessary, protest against these things.

In Thailand, the
Red Shirts, the name given to the anti-government United Front for
Democracy against Dictatorship (UDD) have been demonstrating for over a
month now. Their aim is to force the immediate dissolution of the Thai
government. Mostly poor and rural, the protestors are exerting a huge
price on the Thai economy as they have invaded business districts and
are doing all they can to make the country ungovernable. The numbers of
these protestors have been estimated at about 90,000 people. Try and
imagine this, a crowd of that magnitude who feel so strongly about
their country and the political process that for a month they have been
taking to the streets to show their displeasure.

What is impressive
about what is happening in Thailand has nothing to do with the
rightness or wrongness of the course the Red Shirts are fighting for.
The willingness though, to be mobilised, to be galvanised in such
numbers is striking. It is a clear indication of deep engagement of a
people with the destiny of their country and preparedness to influence
the process of governance in spite of the sacrifices this entails.

It is passion like this that builds great nations.

In Iran last year,
a similar spirit was on display. The country went to the polls in
unprecedented numbers. When the result of the elections was released,
supporters of the opposition candidate Mir-Hossein Mousavi believed a
fraud had been perpetuated and despite the obvious risk in publicly
protesting, they refused to slink away quietly to mourn and lament
their loss in their homes.

Instead they took
to the streets, in their thousands. They were tear gassed, bludgeoned
by police batons and some 72 people were killed, but still they kept
coming out, to protect their votes, to fight for a democratic society,
to help build a country they can all be proud of. When they held a
candle light vigil in Tehran to mourn those killed in the protest, they
numbered 100,000 strong.

We have had our
share of street protests in Nigeria in the last few months. The last
one was two weeks ago when Nigerian youths decide to march under the
banner of ‘Enough is enough’ as a way of insisting on electoral reforms.

Despite the
publicity that preceded the protest, and the organisers’ utilisation of
social media websites like Facebook and Twitter to call people out,
only 1,000 people showed up for the match. Another dismal turnout was
recorded at the Save Nigeria demonstration in Abuja and Lagos. Despite
the presence of notable personalities like Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka,
the people that showed up numbered only 5,000.

When exactly did
the culture of mass protest die in Nigeria? As an undergraduate student
demonstrations were a regular part of my university life. We believed
in our right to protest against the ills in our society. Led by an
active union at the local and national level, the street was our arena
to air our grievances against bad governance. We became experts not
just at soaking hankies and towels in water to protect our mouths and
noses against noxious tear gas that was a staple at these protests, but
also in guerrilla tactics.

Many of us were
excellent swingers and would throw stones and other missiles at the
wall of faceless and well equipped mobile policemen who were always
sent to stamp out our protests forcefully. Once we got our shot, we
would sprint away from the swinging batons to get temporary relief from
tear gas before returning to try and once again fight for our right to
peaceful protest against a tyrannical government.

This was the era of
military rule where dissent was not only not tolerated, but sometimes
met with death by bullets. It didn’t stop us though; we protested
whenever we felt there was a need. In fact, there was something almost
exhilarating about thumbing our noses at dictators who could only stay
in power because they had guns.

As we prepare for election in 2011, the question has to be asked,
are we prepared to put our necks on the line to protect the integrity
of the electoral process? Unless and until a substantial number of
Nigerians answer in the affirmative, changes that are necessary for the
advancement of this society will continue to elude us.