I met Ken Saro-Wiwa once, in Washington, DC. Ken, a writer and activist from oil-rich Ogoniland in the Niger River delta, was in the U.S. seeking support in his struggle against Nigeria’s oppressive dictator, Sani Abacha. I think it was in 1992 when I met Ken, but memory begins to fail. I do remember his trip was not as successful as he had hoped; the Abacha regime had powerful allies in Shell Oil and Chevron. The business of the world is business and few people in Washington cared about the rights of an ethnic minority in Africa.
The organization founded by Ken Saro-Wiwa is called the Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People and the operative word is “survival.” Shell and Chevron drill and spill throughout Ogoniland with reckless impunity; despoiling communities, flaring natural gas night and day, filling the air with choking fumes and the water with poison.
The scant oil profits that accrued to Nigeria went to Sani Abacha and his army – for the Ogoni people, pollution was compounded by poverty. But the business of the world is business and Ken Saro-Wiwa’s pleas fell on hard hearts in Washington. And they were eloquent pleas. Ken was a writer, a playwright and a poet, who laid aside his lyric pen to take up the pen of activism.
That was 1992; Ken Saro-Wiwa returned to Nigeria to continue his struggle. Dissent against the Abacha regime was growing. In a 1993 election, the Nigerian people chose Moshood K. Abiola as their president. Sani Abacha ignored the votes and instead of the office of president, Mr. Abiola received the jail cell of the dissident. There was the required coughing and sputtering from the international diplomatic corps, but as long as the oil kept flowing, no one was willing to raise too much of a fuss. After all, the business of the world is business and soon after the election was aborted, new trade treaties, NAFTA and GATT, were passed, ensuring even freer movement of money and oil.
By the end of 1994, Ken Saro-Wiwa was also in jail, on trumped-up charges. His real crime was being too effective, his crime was raising his voice too loudly. By January 1995, Washington was alive with rumors of Ken’s imminent execution. Every week we held rallies and demonstrations outside the Nigerian Embassy or at the offices of Shell Oil. We were hoping to keep Ken alive by letting Sani Abacha and Royal Dutch Shell remember he was not forgotten.
It worked, for a while. Throughout the winter, spring and summer, Ken stayed in his cell and off the scaffold. During that time I was privileged to meet many members of Nigeria’s exile community who came to protest at Abacha’s doorstep. Just showing up and confronting the cameras of the security men meant putting the lives of their families in danger, but these people were patriots, willing to risk the price a patriot is sometimes called upon to pay.
Our protests could only work for so long; Ken Saro-Wiwa paid for his patriotism in November 1995, when Sani Abacha had him hanged, along with eight of his companions. Shell Oil executives, silent for so long, were now quick to speak up, denying they had any of Ken’s blood on their hands. This was an internal, Nigerian matter, they said, and besides, the oil continued to flow.
And now it’s 1998 and Sani Abacha is dead, the final victim claimed by his cold, hard heart. The spokesman from Shell was unperturbed, the oil still flows, another general will be found. The business of the world is business. It’s merely a matter of contracts, written in oil, signed in blood. Once signed, they cannot be broken.
Business is Business
I met Ken Saro-Wiwa once, in Washington, DC. Ken, a writer and activist from oil-rich Ogoniland in the Niger River delta, was in the U.S. seeking support in his struggle against Nigeria’s oppressive dictator, Sani Abacha. I think it was in 1992 when I met Ken, but memory begins to fail. I do remember his trip was not as successful as he had hoped; the Abacha regime had powerful allies in Shell Oil and Chevron. The business of the world is business and few people in Washington cared about the rights of an ethnic minority in Africa.
The organization founded by Ken Saro-Wiwa is called the Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People and the operative word is “survival.” Shell and Chevron drill and spill throughout Ogoniland with reckless impunity; despoiling communities, flaring natural gas night and day, filling the air with choking fumes and the water with poison.
The scant oil profits that accrued to Nigeria went to Sani Abacha and his army – for the Ogoni people, pollution was compounded by poverty. But the business of the world is business and Ken Saro-Wiwa’s pleas fell on hard hearts in Washington. And they were eloquent pleas. Ken was a writer, a playwright and a poet, who laid aside his lyric pen to take up the pen of activism.
That was 1992; Ken Saro-Wiwa returned to Nigeria to continue his struggle. Dissent against the Abacha regime was growing. In a 1993 election, the Nigerian people chose Moshood K. Abiola as their president. Sani Abacha ignored the votes and instead of the office of president, Mr. Abiola received the jail cell of the dissident. There was the required coughing and sputtering from the international diplomatic corps, but as long as the oil kept flowing, no one was willing to raise too much of a fuss. After all, the business of the world is business and soon after the election was aborted, new trade treaties, NAFTA and GATT, were passed, ensuring even freer movement of money and oil.
By the end of 1994, Ken Saro-Wiwa was also in jail, on trumped-up charges. His real crime was being too effective, his crime was raising his voice too loudly. By January 1995, Washington was alive with rumors of Ken’s imminent execution. Every week we held rallies and demonstrations outside the Nigerian Embassy or at the offices of Shell Oil. We were hoping to keep Ken alive by letting Sani Abacha and Royal Dutch Shell remember he was not forgotten.
It worked, for a while. Throughout the winter, spring and summer, Ken stayed in his cell and off the scaffold. During that time I was privileged to meet many members of Nigeria’s exile community who came to protest at Abacha’s doorstep. Just showing up and confronting the cameras of the security men meant putting the lives of their families in danger, but these people were patriots, willing to risk the price a patriot is sometimes called upon to pay.
Our protests could only work for so long; Ken Saro-Wiwa paid for his patriotism in November 1995, when Sani Abacha had him hanged, along with eight of his companions. Shell Oil executives, silent for so long, were now quick to speak up, denying they had any of Ken’s blood on their hands. This was an internal, Nigerian matter, they said, and besides, the oil continued to flow.
And now it’s 1998 and Sani Abacha is dead, the final victim claimed by his cold, hard heart. The spokesman from Shell was unperturbed, the oil still flows, another general will be found. The business of the world is business. It’s merely a matter of contracts, written in oil, signed in blood. Once signed, they cannot be broken.
Faustus is gone. Regard his hellish fall!