I Believe in the United States of (Black) America
America has never been “United,” not even close.
Recently, my thoughts have turned to the historical significance of Biafra and everything has started to make sense. I have a renewed spirit of pride as I note the phenomenal endurance of my people — the Igbos of Eastern Nigeria.
During the late sixties and early seventies, we took action against a government that denied our ability to flourish as equal inhabitants of a native land that was richly endowed. Ethnic complexities threatened my tribe’s endurance and forced us to seek refuge in a state we decided to create for ourselves under the leadership and guidance of the late visionary, Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu.
Ojukwu, the proud leader of “the breakaway Republic of Biafra,” was in power from 1967–1970, the exact years of the Biafran War, or to be specific, the Nigerian-Biafran War. The Igbos fought with valor and determination despite the bleak forecast. No country offered military support, except for a few renegade soldiers from Europe. Biafran soldiers were forced to design their own weaponry in order to try to increase their odds against their better-equipped opposition.
The minimal support they received from Israel, France, South Africa, Portugal, Vatican City, and Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) couldn’t save them from the inevitable. Eventually, the Biafran Army surrendered. On January 15, 1970, Biafra was no more and rejoined Nigeria. What was remarkable was the fact that nobody on either side, including Ojukwu, ever imagined that Biafra would emerge victorious.
The war itself was the Igbo’s “fuck you” to the Nigerian government and the people at large. After bearing years of economic, ethnic, cultural and religious discomfort, we were ready to separate and make it on our own — at any cost. Many innocent lives were lost and those who survived suffered the consequences of the aftermath. I spent most of my childhood being mesmerized by the tales of those who witnessed the chaos, including my mother. I remember wondering why the Igbos took a risk that they knew wouldn’t pay off.
Now I can answer that question. We did it because it was necessary. We fought to preserve our dignity and to make it globally known that we were not the ones to be fucked with. We needed to reclaim what we had lost, and though the sacrifice was great, it was required. We will forever be remembered and respected for our valiant attempt at preserving our indigenous community.
I want that for Black America. There is no easy path to freedom, and regardless of direction, a heavy fee will be paid. But keep this mind, it won’t be more or less than what you are shelling out in the form of disrespect, blatant callousness, inhuman suffering, and institutionalized racism.
I was too young to have faith in The Republic of Biafra, but I am giving my full support and commitment to the United States of Black America.
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