In a time when so many nations, including our own, are wrestling with questions of democracy, justice, and belonging, I’ve found myself drawn to the history of the Igbo people of Nigeria. One of my mentors, the late Dr. John Ogbu, a UC Berkeley professor and renowned educational anthropologist of Igbo heritage, best known for his cultural-ecological theory of minority school performance, which showed how the histories of slavery, colonization, and systemic exclusion shape the way different communities experience and relate to schooling.
That personal connection is part of why Uche Udenka’s recent piece in The Guardian resonated so strongly with me. Their account reminds us that democracy is not only a Western invention but has long been practiced in deeply participatory ways in other parts of the world. The Igbo story, in particular, offers lessons we can carry into our own struggles today.
Long before colonial rule, the Igbo organized their communities without kings or centralized rulers. Power was distributed across village assemblies, councils of elders, and age-grade associations, creating a highly participatory and consultative form of democracy.
At its moral core was the principle of Ofo na Ogu—justice and truth—which guided both governance and community accountability. Because authority was so widely diffused, British colonizers struggled to impose their usual model of control. There were no monarchs to dethrone or install, only networks of people bound together by dialogue and collective responsibility.
Fast forward to January 15, 1970. The Biafran surrender had just brought an end to three years of brutal civil war. Nigeria’s Head of State, General Yakubu Gowon, addressed the nation in a radio broadcast that reached both those who had fought on the federal side and those who had endured the devastation in the East. In that moment, he declared:
“The so-called Republic of Biafra ceases to exist. The war is over. The nation is now reunited, and no longer will any Nigerian regard another as a stranger. No victor, no vanquished.”
For Gowon, this phrase was meant to set the tone for reconciliation. It was a way of saying that the war should not be remembered as a triumph for one group and humiliation for another. Instead, all Nigerians were to move forward together as a single people.
Yet the gap between rhetoric and reality was devastating. Many Igbos returned to find their savings wiped out, their homes destroyed, and their opportunities curtailed. Gowon’s words became both a hopeful motto and a painful reminder of how difficult genuine reconciliation can be when justice and equity are absent.
What endures in both the precolonial and postwar stories of the Igbo is the lesson that real unity cannot be declared from above. It must be lived out in everyday practices of justice, accountability, and shared responsibility.
Whether in the village assemblies of the past or in the struggles of nation-building today, the Igbo remind us that democracy flourishes only when it is grounded in truth-telling, shared responsibility, and the moral courage to see one another not as strangers but as kin—and that when these principles are abandoned, the devastation of civil war leaves wounds that are ruinous for communities and corrosive to society as a whole.
In reflecting on all of this, I find myself thinking about Dr. Ogbu. When I was a graduate student—not at Berkeley, but at Stanford—he showed me a kindness and respect that left a lasting impression, treating me not just as a student but as a fellow thinker and emerging scholar. I wish I had known more about his Igbo heritage then, so we might have shared a deeper conversation about the history of his people—their democratic traditions, their struggles, and their resilience. It is a reminder that some of the greatest wisdom is not only written in books or taught in classrooms, but carried quietly in the lived histories of those who walk beside us.
-Angela Valenzuela
Generational dimensions of decolonisation
I will examine the generational dimensions of decolonization among the Igbo, analyzing the historical phases and sociopolitical dynamics that defined each generational experience. Decolonization is not merely a historical event marked by the end of British rule in 1960, but a continuing generational process of reclaiming identity, restoring autonomy, resisting internal colonialisms, and reshaping the future.
The Pre-Colonial and Early Colonial Generation: Confrontation and Resistance
Sovereignty in the Village-Republics.
Before the advent of colonial rule, the Igbo operated a decentralized system of governance characterized by community-based assemblies, councils of elders, and age grades. Political authority was diffused, and the people governed themselves through consultative democracy rooted in the values of Ofo na Ogu (justice and moral order). This traditional structure made it difficult for colonialists to establish centralized control, as there were no kings to co-opt or overthrow.
The Anglo-Aro War and Initial Resistance.
British colonization began in earnest in the early 1900s after years of trade contact. The Anglo-Aro War (1901–1902) marked a significant resistance effort by the Aro Confederacy, a powerful Igbo socio-religious network centered around the IbiniUkpabi oracle in Arochukwu. This conflict exemplifies the first generational response to colonial encroachment: military resistance through traditional alliances and spiritual authority.While the British succeeded militarily, the resistance of this elder generation laid the groundwork for the emerging consciousness that colonial domination was a foreign and unwelcome imposition. The generation that lived through this period witnessed the violent disruption of their world and the imposition of foreign rule, education, religion, and law.
The Early 20th Century Generation: Adaptation and Strategic Engagement.
Missionary Education and the Rise of the New Elite.
The next Igbo generation (1900s–1940s) emerged under the colonial regime but began to appropriate the tools of colonization—especially education and religion—as strategic instruments of empowerment. Missionary schools flourished in Igbo land, producing a Western-educated elite that became clerks, teachers, catechists, and interpreters. These individuals were shaped by the colonial encounter, they began to question its contradictions. Exposure to Christian ethics, Enlightenment ideas, and pan-Africanist thought led to a growing critique of colonial injustice. This generation began to see education not only as a path to individual success but also as a vehicle for communal advancement and eventual emancipation.
Women’s Revolt and Economic Activism.
It is also within this generational cohort that the 1929 Women’s War (Ogu Umunwanyi) occurred—a mass protest led by Igbo women against colonial taxation and administrative abuse. The rebellion was both a critique of colonial oppression and a defense of traditional gender roles that had been undermined by colonial structures. This unique moment highlights how decolonization also had a gendered and generational character.
The Nationalist Generation: Political Mobilization and the Fight for Independence.
The Rise of Igbo Nationalists.
The mid-20th century produced a generation of politically conscious Igbos who played leading roles in Nigeria’s independence movement. This group, born between 1910 and 1935, included figures like Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, Mbonu Ojike, K.O. Mbadiwe, and others. Educated abroad or in elite Nigerian institutions, they absorbed anti-colonial, pan-African, and liberal democratic ideologies. Azikiwe, in particular, became a symbol of modern Igbo identity—a nationalist who transcended ethnic boundaries yet remained rooted in Igbo aspirations. His newspaper, West African Pilot, and political party, the NCNC (National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons), were key instruments of political awakening and mobilization. Under his influence, many young Igbos became politically active, joining student unions, civic groups, and trade unions.
Cultural Renaissance and National Identity.
This generation also witnessed a cultural revival. Writers like Chinua Achebe, with Things Fall Apart, sought to reclaim the Igbo story from colonial distortion. Artists, musicians, and scholars began to articulate a distinctly African—and Igbo—worldview. The decolonization process was thus not only political but also intellectual and cultural. The nationalists of this generation saw decolonization as a path to modernity and progress, believing that independence would restore dignity, prosperity, and self-determination to the Igbo and other Nigerian peoples.
The Post-Independence Generation: Betrayal and the Biafran Dream:
The Crisis of Nationhood.
Nigeria gained independence in 1960, but the dreams of the nationalist generation were quickly dashed. Ethnic rivalries, political instability, and military coups destabilized the country. For many Igbos, the 1966 pogroms in northern Nigeria—where tens of thousands of Igbo civilians were massacred—marked a point of no return. The generation that came of age during this period (1940s–1960s) bore the brunt of the betrayal of the independence dream. The secession of Biafra in 1967 was an attempt to achieve what political independence had failed to deliver: safety, dignity, and self-governance.
The Trauma and Legacy of the Biafran War.
The Nigerian Civil War (1967–1970) profoundly shaped this generation. Young Igbos became soldiers, medics, intellectuals, and victims. The war devastated Igbo land—millions died from starvation, disease, and violence. But it also produced a remarkable spirit of resilience and innovation. The Biafraneconomy, science corps, and propaganda machinery showed the capacity for self-reliance. This generation’s experience of war transformed decolonization from a political project into a survivalist ethic. Post-war reintegration into Nigeria was marked by exclusion, marginalization, and suspicion. The slogan “No victor, no vanquished” rang hollow for many Igbos who faced economic devastation and political repression.
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