The more I reflect on those contrasting images of Governor Hope Uzodimma and Governor Charles Soludo before President Bola Tinubu, the more I believe we are looking at something much deeper than two different styles of greeting.
We are looking at a clash of political cultures.
We are looking at the ancient independent spirit of the Igbo man confronting the increasingly suffocating culture of political submission in Nigeria.
And perhaps somewhere inside this lies part of the reason Ndigbo have historically been misunderstood, feared and antagonised within the Nigerian political establishment.
The Igbo man does not naturally bow to another mortal.
He can respect you.
He can honour you.
He can recognise your office.
He can acknowledge your achievements.
But culturally, something inside him resists surrendering his dignity merely because another man possesses greater political authority.
That is the significance of the ancient expression:
IGBO ENWE EZE.
It does not literally mean that kings never existed anywhere in Igboland. Nri had the Eze Nri. Onitsha had its Obi. There were other exceptions.
But across the overwhelming landscape of traditional Igbo society, political organisation was remarkably republican.
The Umunna mattered.
The elders mattered.
The age grades mattered.
The titled men mattered.
The village assembly mattered.
The people mattered.
Authority was dispersed.
Power was questioned.
Leadership required consultation.
No single mortal simply swallowed the community.
Then colonialism arrived and attempted to manufacture the kind of hierarchical authority it understood. Warrant chiefs were created and imposed in communities where no such absolute political authority had previously existed.
Perhaps colonialism ended administratively, but psychologically its political architecture survived.
Today we have replaced the colonial governor with the political godfather.
We have replaced warrant chiefs with governors, senators and political appointees desperate for presidential favour.
And tragically, some Igbo politicians have gradually abandoned the republican spirit of their ancestors in their desperation to gain access to central power.
They have learnt to bow.
They have learnt to whisper where they should speak.
They have learnt to praise where they should question.
They have learnt to measure political relevance by invitations to Abuja rather than the condition of their people at home.
They have learnt that the easiest route to political survival is sometimes not competence, courage or popular legitimacy, but demonstrating loyalty to whoever controls the centre.
This is why that image of Hope Uzodimma standing upright fascinates me.
Whatever else anybody may say about Hope, there is something unmistakably Igbo about that posture.
I respect you, Mr President. But I am standing.
I honour your office.
But I have my own dignity.
I can work with you without crawling before you.
And therein, perhaps, lies Hope Uzodimma’s greatest political problem.
Bola Tinubu comes from a political tradition in which loyalty is everything. He has built an extraordinary political machine over decades and has survived by understanding power, rewarding loyalty and neutralising opposition.
A genuinely independent political figure therefore presents a different proposition.
The man who stands upright cannot always be taken for granted.
The man with his own political structure cannot easily be absorbed.
The man who possesses an independent identity cannot easily become another man’s political extension.
And that independence can become dangerous in a political environment where loyalty is increasingly measured by unquestioning obedience.
Perhaps this explains why Hope must be extremely careful.
Standing upright has consequences when everyone around the throne is competing to bow lower.
The independent man risks being regarded as insufficiently loyal.
The powerful ally risks becoming a potential rival.
The man with his own following becomes somebody to watch.
Access can gradually disappear.
Influence can be redirected elsewhere.
More pliable politicians can suddenly become preferred partners.
And the machinery of power can slowly reorganise itself around those considered easier to control.
Now look again at Soludo.
A Professor.
Former Governor of the Central Bank of Nigeria.
An internationally recognised economist.
Governor of Anambra State.
One of the finest intellectual products Ndigbo have presented to Nigeria.
Yet Nigerian politics has reached a point where even such men appear compelled to demonstrate extraordinary deference before political power.
How did we get here?
How did the descendants of a republican civilisation become so desperate for proximity to power that some of our politicians now behave more like courtiers than representatives of a free people?
Perhaps some of them have spent so long navigating Nigeria’s dominant political cultures that they have forgotten their own.
They have mastered the politics of the palace.
They understand the politics of patronage.
They understand the politics of godfathers.
They understand the politics of kneeling before power.
But they have forgotten the politics of the village square where a man stood upright and defended his position before his peers.
That is the tragedy.
And perhaps this independence is one reason the Igbo man has historically been difficult for others to understand.
He travels somewhere and establishes himself.
He builds.
He trades.
He competes.
He acquires property.
He creates his own economic independence.
He does not necessarily wait for government.
He does not naturally accept permanent political subordination.
And wherever he settles, eventually he wants to participate as an equal stakeholder.
That personality can inspire admiration.
It can also generate resentment.
But Ndigbo must never cure that resentment by becoming politically servile.
We must never apologise for standing upright.
Our politicians must understand something fundamental:
You can support a President without worshipping him.
You can belong to his political party without surrendering your conscience.
You can seek federal cooperation without becoming anybody’s political houseboy.
You can respect another man’s culture without abandoning your own.
And above all, you can enter Aso Rock, shake the President’s hand, discuss politics, negotiate the interests of your people, and leave through the same door standing exactly as upright as when you entered.
Because political offices are temporary.
Tinubu will leave.
Hope will leave.
Soludo will leave.
Every governor, senator and President eventually leaves.
But Ndigbo will remain.
Our identity will remain.
Our republican instinct must remain.
Our dignity must remain.
So perhaps Igbo enwe eze needs to be understood again, not as disrespect for legitimate authority, but as a declaration of political adulthood:
No mortal owns me.
No politician owns my conscience.
No President owns my voice.
No political party owns my dignity.
I can respect you without submitting to you.
I can work with you without worshipping you.
And if standing upright before power carries consequences, then perhaps those consequences are sometimes the price a free man must be prepared to pay.
Ndigbo, kwenu!
Hon. Chimazuru Nnadi-Oforgu
Duruebube Uzii na Abosi
Oblong Media Global Intelligence
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