YOU HIT WE FLY: The Unbroken Ascent Of Ndigbo Nigeria’s Calculated Insults

The events of 1966 crystallized this animus into brutal reality. The coup, a tangled web of ambition and grievance, was cynically distilled into an “Igbo coup” – a narrative designed to incite ethnic fury. The result was catastrophic. Across Northern Nigeria, waves of organized violence descended upon Igbo communities. Men, women, and children – innocent and unarmed – were slaughtered with impunity, their homes burned, their businesses destroyed, their place within the nation violently revoked. The world looked away. This was not merely an eruption of violence; it was a declaration, a grim pronouncement that life for the Igbo within Nigeria was conditional, expendable. Achebe captured this moment with piercing clarity in There Was a Country: “It became clear to me that the Nigeria we had known and loved was gone… replaced by a dangerous, unpredictable entity.” The seeds of exclusion had been sown, their roots watered with blood.

When forced into secession for survival, the response from the federal government was nothing short of annihilation – military aggression compounded by calculated policy designed not just to defeat, but to starve a people into submission. As Federal Commissioner of Finance, Obafemi Awolowo rationalized the blockade with chilling pragmatism: “All is fair in war, and starvation is one of the weapons of war.” The consequences were devastating. Kwashiorkor-ravaged children, skeletal figures etched into the world’s consciousness, suffering broadcast in desperate pleas for intervention – none of which came. The international community, with varying degrees of indifference or complicity, watched as Nigeria perpetrated one of the most egregious atrocities of the post-colonial era. Again, Achebe bore witness: “The world watched, with varying degrees of compassion or indifference or complicity, as Nigeria committed one of the worst atrocities of the post-colonial era.” This was not just war; this was an attempt to erase a people.

Emerging from the devastation of war, Ndigbo did not find reconciliation, but rather institutionalized dispossession. Instead of healing, the state enacted the “Abandoned Properties” decree, stripping individuals of homes, businesses, and factories – assets seized and redistributed to collaborators, cementing economic devastation. The infamous 20-pound policy, which arbitrarily reduced the financial holdings of Igbo individuals to a pittance regardless of their pre-war wealth, was no economic adjustment – it was a deliberate act of engineered poverty, a structural blow designed to cripple an entire ethnic group for generations. The intent was unambiguous: Stay down. Stay poor. Stay silent. The message rang loud and clear – Igbo worth in the economic and political landscape was to be stifled, contained, reduced to insignificance

The guns may have fallen silent in 1970, but the machinery of exclusion never ceased; it merely adapted, embedding itself within national structures, appointments, resource allocations, and, most insidiously, the very symbols of recognition. The posthumous honours bestowed upon Nwosu, Kanu, Ubani, Madunagu, – while undoubtedly deserved – do not signify inclusion. Instead, they serve as a grim spectacle, a parody of recognition that transforms these figures into ornamental trophies of a nation uneasy with the vitality of the living Igbo spirit. Their names are etched into the annals of history, but only in death, as if to say that their contributions are admissible only once they cease to pose a challenge.

The presidency remains a fortress deliberately guarded against Igbo ascension, accessible only through alliances that demand subjugation rather than true representation. Ministerial appointments consistently relegate Igbo figures to portfolios of marginal influence, ensuring that decision-making power remains firmly out of reach. The creation of additional states fragmented Igboland, diluting political strength, while the glaring absence of any living Igbo figures from this National Honours list further solidifies their symbolic quarantine. The message is unambiguous: Your achievements in the present are irrelevant, even threatening. Your ghost may be honoured, but your living presence is disregarded. As Udenta O. Udenta astutely observes, the Nigerian state exhibits a “pathological fear of Igbo resurgence,” manifesting in its systematic marginalization of the living.

This exclusion extends beyond politics and into the economic realm, where calculated deprivation ensures that the Southeast remains stifled. Federal roads collapse into impassable hazards, the Enugu coal mines sit idle, the Onitsha and Aba ports remain aspirations rather than realities. The Second Niger Bridge, long promised yet endlessly delayed, materialized only under immense pressure. Budgetary allocations to the region consistently fall below necessity, crippling infrastructural development and ensuring that economic potential remains artificially restrained. The traders and industrialists of Alaba, Onitsha Main Market, and Ariaria – builders of thriving commercial hubs – receive no national acknowledgment. Perhaps, like their forebears, their names will be inscribed on plaques only after they have passed.

Where the state exhibits inertia in combating banditry and terrorism elsewhere, it demonstrates alarming vigilance when confronting separatist sentiments in the Southeast. The military footprint in Igbo territories is disproportionately expansive, responding not with measured governance but with overwhelming force. The proscription of IPOB stands in stark contrast to the tolerance extended to groups with far bloodier records, revealing a clear double standard in the administration of justice. The tragedies of checkpoints, the specter of “unknown gunmen,” the constant surveillance – these are the modern iterations of suppression, designed not simply to deter but to instill fear and fracture resolve. Wole Soyinka, himself among the living honorees, once stated, “The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny.” And yet, in the face of Igbo grievances, that silence remains deafening.

Beyond these overt mechanisms of exclusion lies the subtler, yet equally potent, battle over narrative control. Igbo contributions to Nigeria’s intellectual, artistic, and scientific advancement are either minimized or appropriated. Persistent stereotypes paint them as “troublemakers,” “greedy,” or “clannish,” obscuring the collective resilience and ingenuity forged through adversity. To honour the dead while ignoring the living is the pinnacle of this erasure, the final, chilling whisper that suggests history can be acknowledged, but presence must be erased. It is an implicit confession that Igbo vitality, in its unyielding and dynamic force, unsettles the carefully curated framework of national identity.

The paradox of Ndigbo is one of defiant triumph, a persistent refusal to be subdued by exclusion, adversity, or selective recognition. Every attempt to suppress, sideline, or dismiss them only fuels an unwavering determination to rise, innovate, and transcend limitations. Being ignored in life merely sharpens the resolve to become utterly unignorable, transforming suppression into a catalyst for success, forging a history of resilience not shaped by chance, but by sheer will.

Denied economic reparations, abandoned by federal support, and left to rebuild with little more than their own ingenuity, Ndigbo turned inwards, drawing on timeless principles of industry and resourcefulness. Aku ruo uno – wealth builds the home – and igba mbo – relentless effort – became the cornerstones of reconstruction. From the ashes of war and dispossession, they established commercial hubs that now stand as monuments to indigenous entrepreneurship. Onitsha Main Market, Alaba International, Ariaria – these are not merely places of trade, but vast, complex ecosystems of commerce, thriving despite state neglect. The Igbo apprentice system, Igba Boy, emerged as a powerful engine for wealth creation, ensuring economic mobility even where formal structures failed. Economist Ndubuisi Ekekwe observed this phenomenon, noting that Ndigbo have built “the most resilient indigenous economy in Africa, arguably without significant state support.” When the ground beneath them was made barren, they took flight, proving that their living enterprise carries greater honor than any posthumous award.

Denied opportunities at home, they sought new frontiers across the globe. From the bustling markets of Guangzhou to the innovation hubs of Silicon Valley, from Oxford’s lecture halls to Johannesburg’s financial corridors, Igbo excellence shines with an undimmed brilliance. They integrate without erasure, excelling in medicine, engineering, finance, technology, and the arts, carrying the nkpuru obi – the heart seed – of their homeland wherever they go. This diaspora, born of exclusion, has become a formidable force, providing remittances, influence, and prestige that stretch across continents. Chigozie Obioma encapsulated this spirit perfectly, describing the Igbo as “a migratory bird that finds home wherever the tree of opportunity grows,” singing its song across the world.

Adversity has also ignited a creative renaissance. From the trauma of Biafra emerged literary, artistic and accomplished voices that reshaped global platforms – Achebe, Ekwensi, Adichie, Oguibe, Nwapa, Ben Enwonwu, Obiora Udechukwu, Uche Okeke, Chike Aniakor, Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, Benneth Omalu – men and women who turned suffering into art, forcing the world to bear witness.

Today, Igbo philosophers, scientists, tech pioneers, theologians, and artists continue to expand humanity’s intellectual and creative horizons. Igbo language revitalization flourishes, cultural festivals resonate with deeper meaning, traditions such as our Ofala and Iri Ji – the New Yam Festival – stand not as relics, but as evolving testaments to an unshaken identity. Where bodies and wallets have been struck, where attempts have been made to erase their place in history, Ndigbo have responded by soaring on the strength of their minds, their creativity, and their indomitable will. The dead may be honored, but the living continue to shape the narrative.

Where state hostility or neglect would ordinarily fracture a people, Ndigbo grow stronger through unity. Town unions, Umunna, function as de facto governments, constructing schools, hospitals, and roads, ensuring security where the official state apparatus has failed. The communal spirit, the unwavering belief in self-reliance, the deeply rooted optimism – Onye kwe, Chi ya ekwe – “If one says yes, his personal god agrees” – form the foundation of their resilience. Instead of succumbing to despair, they transform hardship into motivation, resistance into progress. Nelson Mandela once said, “The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” In this, Ndigbo are unmatched. Their communities, built on strength and perseverance, stand as their living honours list, proof that recognition granted in death pales in comparison to the undeniable legacy forged by the living.

The shock was immediate, visceral, undeniable. The sheer audacity of excluding an entire major ethnic group’s living members from a national honours list struck not just as an oversight, but as a deliberate statement. The murmurs of a friends disbelief – “Unbelievable!” “Even Buhari did not go this far!” – spoke to the magnitude of the snub, the calculated nature of the omission. Yet, the insult was sharpened further by the inclusion of six posthumous names, a gesture that reinforced an unsettling pattern: the preference for those safely departed over those still breathing, striving, achieving. It did not whisper but screamed, “We do not see you. We do not value you. Your presence is not part of this nation’s celebration.”

But here, as always, lies the recurring miscalculation of those who wield exclusion and posthumous tokenism as instruments of control: they fundamentally misunderstand Ndigbo. Every slight, every infrastructural deprivation, every act of systemic marginalization is not a victory for them – nor is it a loss for us. It becomes yet another updraft, another gust beneath wings that have learned, through centuries of turbulence, to ride adversity towards greater heights. They act as though omission could erase presence, as though deliberate neglect could extinguish achievement. But history has already proven otherwise.

They attempt to erase us in the honours of the living? We ascend regardless, propelled by the global networks we have forged and the roaring engines of our indigenous economy. Success, built against the grain of systemic obstruction, becomes an unyielding rebuke – one that does not require state validation to shine. Every achievement becomes a national honour in itself, undeniable and visible to the world.

They withhold investment, let infrastructure decay, deny development? We transcend their indifference through self-help, through communal ingenuity that builds where others refuse to lay foundations. We construct parallel structures of excellence, thriving economies, institutions of progress that render their absence a spectacle of incompetence rather than a triumph of suppression. We do not wait for the light – we create it.

They respond with violence, repression, military presence disproportionately deployed? We refuse to crumble. The spirit remains unbroken, resolve hardened like tempered steel. Righteous anger does not dissipate into defeat but is transmuted into creative, economic, and intellectual forces that ultimately outlast and outshine their brutality. As Martin Luther King Jr. so aptly noted, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Igbo history is the embodiment of that slow but inevitable bend – justice not begged for, but willed into existence through sheer determination. Survival itself is victory.

They seek to erase our narrative, co-opting only our dead? We respond with powerful, living stories, voices that cannot be silenced. Literature, music, art, technology – every avenue of human expression becomes a channel for reclaiming history, shaping the present, and defining the future. Writers and Artists like, Adichie, Phyno, Flavour do not echo – they resonate, their words refusing erasure, their perspectives impossible to ignore. The dead are ours, their legacies belong to us, not to the hollow gesture of token recognition.

This awards list, devoid of living Igbo names but adorned with ghosts they now find palatable, is not a testament to their strength – it is a confession of weakness. It reveals not our marginalization, but their fear, their inability to accommodate the vibrancy, the challenge, the contribution of contemporary Ndigbo. It is a tacit admission of insecurity, of a vision of nationhood so narrow that it finds comfort only in the passive memory of the deceased rather than the active presence of the living. Their medals for the dead are not honours; they are markers of their own failure. And while they inscribe names on plaques, we build. We ascend. We create skyscrapers of achievement, rising above the weight of exclusion, ensuring that even silence cannot contain our voice.

Ndi be anyi, umu Igbo, hear this and hear it well. Do not allow the poison of exclusion to seep into your spirit. Do not let anger consume you; let it temper and refine. Do not be deceived by the glittering medals conferred upon others or the hollow plaques handed to our departed. Recognition does not reside in their lists, their timelines, or their posthumous gestures. True validation erupts from within – from our Chi, from the unyielding blood of ancestors who survived the Middle Passage and the sacking of Arochukwu, from the resilience of parents who rebuilt wealth from twenty pounds and the ashes of war, and from the relentless drive that propels us forward, our achievements resonating across the globe.

They murmur in low tones, “We will deal with the Igbo.” But history, an unblinking and ever-present witness, responds with laughter. They have tried before. They continue to try. Pogroms. Starvation. Theft. Systematic exclusion. Institutional neglect. State violence. And now, the latest symbolic affront – honouring our dead while erasing our living. Yet, here we are. Not merely standing, but soaring. Taller. Stronger. More innovative. More globally connected. More culturally vibrant than ever before. Each attempt to suppress, each act of calculated omission, serves only to refine our indomitable spirit, forging it anew, brighter and more unbreakable.

Achebe’s words remain our guiding truth: “While we do our good works let us not forget that the real solution lies in a world in which charity will have become unnecessary.” We are constructing that world – brick by entrepreneurial brick, line by brilliant line of code, note by soul-stirring note, act of communal solidarity by act of collective strength. And we do so not in spite of them, but wholly independent of them. We build for ourselves. And, ultimately, for a Nigeria that must one day reckon with its own fractured soul.

Ndi be anyi, umu Igbo ibe m , hear this clearly. As we ascend on thermals of our own making, an unsettling discord grates against our collective resolve. It is not only external forces that challenge us but also certain voices within our ranks – sons and daughters of Igboland, bolstered by proximity to power, who tirelessly peddle the illusion of inclusion under this administration. Governor Hope Uzodinma trumpets a promise of “renewed hope” even as the Southeast remains the most visibly neglected in federal infrastructure. Dave Umahi, as Minister of Works, parades ribbon-cuttings and ambitious projections, all while our federal roads – the Enugu-Port Harcourt, the Onitsha-Owerri, the treacherous Ninth Mile Corner – descend further into ruin, swallowing trailers in sinkholes and rendering passage near impossible. Senators and Representatives, enriched by patronage, stand before the people extolling the government’s supposed love for the East, even as the roll call of national honours erases the living Igbo from recognition.

The exclusion of the Southeast from critical national infrastructure projects is neither accidental nor incidental – it is a deliberate policy of marginalization that has persisted across successive administrations. The ongoing railway modernization program, which has seen the construction of standard-gauge rail lines across the country, has systematically bypassed the Southeast. While other regions enjoy modern rail connectivity, the Eastern Rail Line, which runs from Port Harcourt through Aba, Enugu, Makurdi, and Maiduguri, remains stuck in the past, relegated to an obsolete narrow-gauge system. The federal government’s failure to upgrade this vital transport corridor speaks volumes about its priorities and its continued disregard for the economic lifeline of the region.

Beyond rail infrastructure, the Southeast has been excluded from several other key national projects. The $2.8 billion Ajaokuta-Kaduna-Kano (AKK) gas pipeline, a major energy initiative under the previous administration, completely ignored the Southeast despite its industrial potential. Similarly, the recent N3.2 trillion irrigation project spearheaded by the Ministry of Water Resources has left out the Anambra-Imo River Basin Development Authority, the only authority serving the entire Southeast. These exclusions are not mere oversights; they are calculated omissions designed to stifle the region’s economic growth and industrialization.

Federal appointments further reflect this pattern of exclusion. Of the 49 ministers in President Tinubu’s cabinet, only five hail from the Southeast, and just two hold substantive portfolios. In a recent batch of 21 federal agency appointments, the region was allocated only two positions, despite being one of the six geopolitical zones. The imbalance is glaring, the message unmistakable: the Southeast is to remain politically sidelined, its influence diluted, its representation tokenistic at best.

Yet, despite these undeniable facts, certain individuals within our ranks continue to disturb our peace with empty rhetoric about Tinubu’s “renewed hope.”

To these merchants of illusion – Uzodinma, Umahi, Benjamin Kalu, Orji Uzor and their chorus of apologists in the National Assembly – we must pose Ojukwu’s searing question: “How market?” Where is the true, transformative inclusion? Show us! Is it reflected in this list – forty-two names, six posthumous recognitions, and not a single living Igbo soul deemed worthy? Is that your market? Is it found in the deliberate underfunding of the Southeast, in the continued neglect of the region’s critical infrastructure? In the silence regarding insecurity – fostered by governmental negligence and exacerbated by indiscriminate responses? Is it in the calculated omissions that speak louder than any insincere promise?

You stand before the people, pointing to a single rehabilitated road section, a promised bridge endlessly delayed, and declare it progress, while the machinery of exclusion remains intact, unchanged, reinforced by symbolic gestures like this honours list. You ask us to celebrate crumbs while others feast at a banquet of national recognition and belonging. You push forward a government whose most visible gesture of inclusion for Ndigbo is a medal pinned to the names of the deceased – a stark reminder to the living of their imposed irrelevance in the nation’s present.

Shame! Shame on those who barter dignity for proximity to power, who amplify false narratives of acceptance while the state’s actions speak in rejection. You invoke the ideals of One Nigeria while the very policies you defend scream something else: One Nigeria, Minus Ndigbo (Except When Dead). Your words ring hollow against the relentless percussion of exclusion. And yet, in the face of this betrayal, Ojukwu’s ghost whispers, “How market?” The stalls that should bear genuine inclusion, equitable development, and dignified belonging remain empty, abandoned by the very dispensation you so eagerly endorse.

But hear this as well, apologists and political merchants: Just as we have weathered the storms of external hostility, so too shall we endure this internal tempest of compromised loyalty. The Igbo spirit has developed an immunity against false prophets and opportunists. The same wisdom that navigates global markets sees through the facade of political masquerades. The same resilience that rebuilt fortunes from the ashes of war will endure beyond the tenure of any government built on exclusion, outlasting those who trade their integrity for temporary rewards. The Umunna watches. The market women in Onitsha, the apprentices in Alaba, the professors in diaspora, the tech innovators in Enugu – they see, they record, they remember.

Honor, when stripped of its essence, becomes mere decoration – a hollow symbol devoid of meaning, a trinket handed out to pacify rather than to recognize. True honor is not bestowed; it is earned. It is woven into the fabric of one’s actions, into the sacrifices made not for personal elevation but for the collective dignity of one’s people. This is the lesson Akanu Ibiam imparted when, in 1967, he renounced his knighthood from Queen Elizabeth II in protest against Britain’s complicity in the genocide against Biafra. His was not a performative gesture but an act of defiance, a rejection of hollow recognition in the face of his people’s suffering. Ibiam understood that to accept an honor while his kin perished would be a betrayal – a concession that placed personal glory above collective justice.

Decades later, Chinua Achebe echoed the same conviction, rejecting Nigeria’s national honors not once, but twice – first in 2004 under President Olusegun Obasanjo, then again in 2011 under President Goodluck Jonathan. Offered the prestigious Commander of the Order of the Federal Republic (CFR), Achebe declined, citing dissatisfaction with governance in Nigeria. In 2011, he reiterated that nothing had changed, that the issues he had pointed to years before remained unaddressed. Achebe, one of Nigeria’s most revered literary voices, understood that an honor conferred by a government that failed its people was no honor at all. His refusal was not a rejection of Nigeria itself, but a refusal to take part in the masquerade of validation while fundamental injustices persisted.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie joined this lineage of principled dissent when she declined the Nigerian National Honour conferred by President Muhammadu Buhari on October 11, 2022. She did not attend the ceremony, later privately conveying her rejection of the award. Her communications team stated that she did not wish to create undue publicity around the decision, letting her choice speak for itself. While she did not publicly detail the reason for her rejection, Adichie has been vocal about governance in Nigeria, a stance that informed her refusal. Like Ibiam and Achebe before her, she understood that honor is meaningless when granted by those who deny justice – that recognition by an unjust system risk legitimizing its failures.

Contrast this with the present-day efulefus, those who posture before the corridors of power, trading dignity for fleeting privileges. They do not ask why their people are excluded; they do not protest the omissions, the structural neglect, the calculated sidelining. Instead, they decorate themselves with titles, appointments, and medals – symbols that mean nothing when their ancestral roads remain impassable, when their children migrate in search of opportunity, when their people languish under policies that relegate them to the margins. What is honor to one when the many suffer? What does it mean to be recognized by a system that refuses to recognize your people’s full humanity? To wear the robe of inclusion when exclusion is the foundation upon which you stand?

Akanu Ibiam, in death, still speaks. His refusal echoes across time, a reminder that integrity does not expire, that moral courage remains the highest currency. Achebe, in literature, continues to wield his influence, his rejection standing as an enduring critique of power. Adichie, in life, still stands tall, a testament to the power of self-definition, to the refusal to be reduced to what others deem worthy. Their actions form a lineage, a history of resistance against hollow validation. And in their example lies the lesson for us all: true honor is rooted in justice. It is not found in titles but in the unwavering demand for fairness. It is in standing, in speaking, in rejecting false offerings.

So let this be a call. Let this be the moment we cast off the language of grievance and embrace the language of action. Let us reject empty symbols and build tangible legacies. Let us honor ourselves – not through the recognition of those who would erase us, but through the undeniable force of our contributions. Onye ajulu anaghi aju onwe ya! The forsaken do not forsake themselves. We do not wait for honor. We create it. And in doing so, we ensure that when history speaks of this era, it does not recount a people bowed by rejection, but a people who refused to be defined by it. A people who rose, unshaken, unyielding, unstoppable.

The spirit of Ndigbo is not simply one of survival – it is one of *unyielding defiance*, of creation in the face of destruction, of soaring where others seek to ground us. It is the fire that refuses to be extinguished, the relentless determination to thrive despite exclusion, the insistence on defining our own narrative rather than accepting the roles prescribed to us. This essence has been the lifeblood of our journey, from the ruins of war to the heights of global prominence. It is the spirit that rejects tokenism, that scoffs at hollow validation, that refuses to kneel before symbols meant to pacify rather than empower. It is the same spirit that coursed through Akanu Ibiam when he renounced his knighthood, through Chinua Achebe when he refused Nigeria’s national honours *twice*, and through Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie when she quietly but firmly declined the same.

Ibiam, Achebe, Adichie – three voices, three generations, yet one unbroken lineage of refusal. They did not reject accolades out of bitterness, nor did they turn away from recognition for its own sake. They understood that honor, when granted by a system that denies justice, is no honor at all. To accept would have been to validate a flawed structure, to lend dignity to a system that sought to strip dignity from their people. They stood in principled defiance, not for themselves alone, but for the collective dignity of Ndigbo – for the insistence that our worth is self-defined, that validation must come from within rather than from hands that have historically withheld it.

Through them, we are reminded that the struggle is not for mere acknowledgment but for restoration* – the rebuilding of our strength, the reclaiming of our space, the refusal to be reduced. Their actions echo the determination of generations past, the builders of Aba’s industries, the pioneers of education and commerce, the visionaries who did not wait for national benevolence but carved their own futures. They embody the essence of Igbo resilience – the ability to rise, not by seeking permission, but by wielding unyielding agency. And in their example, the path forward is clear: we do not beg for recognition; we create legacies that make recognition irrelevant.

The significance of this moment is undeniable. Ibiam’s legacy endures beyond his passing, Achebe’s words continue to enlighten, and Adichie remains a steadfast force. Their refusals were never mere acts of defiance but powerful affirmations of dignity – a testament that honor is not bestowed but claimed. As we forge ahead, let this conviction guide us: we do not linger at the edges – we break barriers. We do not wait for acceptance – we make ourselves seen. And when history reflects on this time, let it recognize not a people weighed down by grievances but a people who shattered constraints, built beyond exclusion, and thrived – not because they were acknowledged, but because they refused to be ignored.

Ụmụ Nnem Ebezina! This too shall pass. Today’s fervent promoters of empty promises will find their voices fading tomorrow, drowned beneath the enduring roar of a people whose worth is neither bestowed by a partial state nor diminished by the betrayals of a few. We overcame the calculated starvation of Awolowo, the brutal terror of Abacha, the stinging indifference of Buhari. And we shall transcend this present era of symbolic annihilation and its internal cheerleaders. The market we build – markets of commerce, of ideas, of self-reliance, of global excellence – will endure long after the trinkets of patronage have tarnished and the echoes of hollow declarations have faded. We do not fly because of compromised politics; we ascend despite them. Our trajectory remains undeterred by the noise from below – whether it comes from those who openly oppose us or those among us who have forgotten the price of our collective soul.

Onye kwe, Chi ya ekwe. If we declare, “We fly,” the universe responds with thunderous assent.

The harder they strike, the higher we ascend. Their dismissal of the living only intensifies our brilliance, radiating across the global stage, illuminating marketplaces of thought and commerce, leaving an indelible mark in the chronicles of innovation and in the hearts of those who recognize true merit and an unbreakable spirit.

Each push to the margins only affirms what history has long demonstrated – that walls, meant to confine, are mere launchpads for those destined to soar. Their efforts to limit us, their calculated exclusions, only sharpen our focus on unparalleled, undeniable excellence. They attempt erasure, yet in doing so, they etch our legacy deeper into the consciousness of humanity. Their posthumous honours, doled out with reluctant hands, are no grand recognition – they are mere footnotes in the epic narrative of our resilience.

Look beyond their omissions. Witness the energy of our markets, the brilliance of our diaspora shaping the world, the living voices of our writers claiming space in global discourse, the architects and engineers envisioning new futures, the tech innovators crafting tomorrow’s breakthroughs. Observe our communities, bound by fierce love, strengthened by collective resolve, carrying on traditions with a faith that remains unshaken. This is the true ascent. This is the inexorable rise. This is the victory – not because they acknowledge us, but because, in their denial and selective remembrance, they only reinforce our defiance.

Onye kwe, Chi ya ekwe. If we declare, We fly, the universe roars in agreement. No slight, no snub, no exclusionary gesture, no hollow recognition of the dead can tether the unyielding spirit of Ndigbo. We rise above their pettiness, outpace their envy, transcend the shadows they cast, embodying resilience that no external force can erode. We ascend, not in mourning but in triumph, carrying the honoured memory of our departed while drawing power from the vibrant, unstoppable force of the living.

We should no longer speak of marginalization as my brother Obi Nwakanma in one of his piece cautioned, nor should we dwell on its confines. The language of exclusion must not dictate our trajectory, nor should its weight slow our ascent. Onye ajulu anaghi aju onwe ya! A man forsaken does not forsake himself. This has always been the Igbo way – resilience forged in the furnace of trial, a defiant refusal to be subdued by circumstance. The generation before us did not waste their breath lamenting oppression. They dug their hands into the soil and built. They did not wait for the state’s recognition; they defined their own stature. They did not ask for inclusion; they forged new pathways. They did not accept their fate; they reshaped it with their will, with their industry, with the boundless reach of their ambition.

Now, it is upon us to reclaim that spirit of Restoration, to cast off the shackles of lamentation, and step fully into the domain of creation. We must dare to see beyond the blind spots of national neglect and focus on the foundation we lay beneath our own feet. “Let us build Aba until it stretches into Port Harcourt”, until there is no discernible boundary between progress and imposed limitations. Let us establish our own industries, our own technological hubs, our own financial networks, independent of bureaucratic exclusion. Let us take our destinies in our hands, as our forebears once did – like Mbakwe who did not wait for federal generosity but built electricity grids, water systems, universities, and industries with Igbo ingenuity alone. Let us build, not beg. Let us create, not complain. Let us rise beyond the pettiness of power games and carve out an unshakable place for ourselves in history.

Nigeria will move forward – with or without us. But it will feel our presence, not through our protests, but through the undeniable force of our achievements. The markets of Onitsha will hum louder than policy decrees. The innovation in Enugu will cast longer shadows than government appointments. The global footprint of our people, expanding in commerce, technology, medicine, art, and literature, will far outweigh the ephemeral tokens of recognition. We have always been the architects of our own elevation. The universe does not conspire against us – it only waits for us to act. And act we must.

So let this be our pledge. Let us step beyond the language of grievance and into the domain of creation. Let us meet exclusion with expansion, denial with determination. Let every school we build, every scholarship we fund, every innovation we pioneer, every home we construct be the rebuke to those who would erase us. Let the hum of our factories drown out the silence of their omission. Let the brilliance of our minds illuminate what they refuse to acknowledge. Let the legacy we carve with our own hands stand as our true testament.

We are not marginalized. We are rising! We are building. We are soaring!

And when the world looks back upon this moment, upon the crossroads where complaint was abandoned for creation, let it say: Here stood a people who refused to be defined by exclusion, who claimed their space with the force of their vision, who built without waiting for permission.

They strike – we ascend.

Always. Higher. Further.

Unstoppable.

Igbo, Kwenu!

©️AI-KO

June 12 2025

Lagos

iagbeze@gmail.com