The historical trajectory of the Igbo people in Nigeria is one of resilience and tragedy, marked by systemic injustice and repeated scapegoating. Their suffering, from the 1966 pogroms to the Biafran War, is deeply etched in Nigeria’s collective memory. Nearly one million Igbos were massacred in 1966, not because of their actions but as a consequence of a coup attributed to a single man whose connections to Igboland were tenuous at best. The massacre triggered an exodus to their homeland, but their attempt to declare independence was violently suppressed, costing another three million lives, including countless children who succumbed to starvation and kwashiorkor.
At the war’s end in 1970, the surviving Igbos faced a harsh reintegration process. Stripped of their financial assets, they were allotted a mere £20 (₦40) per person, regardless of their pre-war wealth. This economic emasculation coincided with policies such as the indigenization decree, which allowed other Nigerians to acquire major foreign-owned assets while the Igbos were left out. The infamous “abandoned property” policy in certain states compounded their plight, dispossessing many of their homes in major cities.
In education, the post-war quota system further marginalized the Igbos. Despite enduring three years without functional schools, they were classified as “educationally advantaged,” effectively locking their children out of federal schools and universities in favor of those from “disadvantaged” states—a categorization that persists to this day. Denied opportunities in the civil service and formal sectors, the Igbos turned to trade and entrepreneurship, using their hands and ingenuity to rebuild their lives. This adaptability and resilience became their hallmark.
Despite these challenges, the Igbos displayed remarkable generosity and integration. They settled across Nigeria, contributing to local economies, building infrastructure, and fostering relationships with their host communities. In the South-West, particularly, they found acceptance and partnership, forging deep bonds through marriages, friendships, and mutual development projects. This period of relative harmony endured until divisive political rhetoric began to resurface in the late 1990s.
The return to democracy in 1999 marked a new chapter, but it also sowed the seeds of division. Anti-Igbo sentiments were reignited, fueled by political actors seeking to exploit tribalism for personal gain. In recent years, these sentiments have reached fever pitch, with xenophobic and genocidal rhetoric spreading on social media and political platforms, particularly in the South-West. The accusation that Igbos “claim to own Lagos” is baseless, given that they acquire land through legitimate means and contribute significantly to the city’s tax base and economic vibrancy.
Politically, the Igbos have consistently supported candidates from across Nigeria’s ethnic spectrum, often at great personal and communal risk. In 1993, they overwhelmingly backed MKO Abiola, a Yoruba man. They repeated this gesture in 1999 and 2003 with Olusegun Obasanjo, also Yoruba, giving him landslide victories in the South-East, even against Ojukwu, their war hero. In subsequent elections, the Igbos supported northern candidates like Umaru Yar’Adua and Atiku Abubakar, as well as Goodluck Jonathan, an Ijaw. Yet, when they rallied behind Peter Obi, an Igbo candidate in 2023, they were suddenly branded ethnic bigots. This hypocrisy reveals a double standard that is both unjust and dangerous.
The recent escalation of anti-Igbo rhetoric is a chilling reminder of Nigeria’s darkest chapters. It is a warning sign of another potential pogrom, fueled by political opportunism and societal complacency. As a Kwashiorkor survivor born during the war, I carry the weight of history and the scars of a people who have been repeatedly targeted for annihilation. The dark clouds are gathering once again, and it is imperative that Nigerians, especially Igbo politicians who enable divisive narratives, take a stand against this dangerous trend.
The Igbos’ “crime,” if one exists, is their resilience, their ability to thrive despite systemic exclusion, and their unyielding belief in a Nigeria that continually rejects them. It is time to reject the politics of division and foster unity, equity, and justice. The lessons of history must not be ignored, and the cycle of hate and violence must be broken for the sake of Nigeria’s future.
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